


A Gift from Rome

by trepkos



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Arena, Attempted Rape, Decapitation, F/M, Flogging, Gladiatorial combat, Het, Horses, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Post-Canon, Single combat, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepkos/pseuds/trepkos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Kai go to look for some missing warriors, and are captured for use in gladiatorial contests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift from Rome

**I**

So – this is London.

The place steams in the heat of late summer, and there’s no wind to blow away the stink that rises from the rotten vegetables and dead animals that lie about the streets. Dogs, pigs, and bedraggled chickens wander disconsolately among the rubbish, feeding upon – and squabbling over – whatever they can find, and the people aren’t much better. The whole place has the air of somewhere that’s going rapidly downhill, and Kai doesn’t want to be here when it hits the bottom.

He doesn’t want to be here at all.

Even so, the houses and places of business – built of stone, either by the Romans or their local hangers-on – are more luxurious than any the folks back home have ever seen. Some even have smoke billowing from hypocaust vents. The Romans didn’t destroy everything when they left.

Kai nudges his horse closer to Arthur’s. “Shouldn’t Mark of Cornwall be the one traipsing all the way up here, to find these missing warriors of his? Why is it up to us?”

“Because this could be a task that requires subtlety – a quality for which Mark is not renowned.”

Kai snorts.

“We need to find out what’s going on, rather than show up in force, and find ourselves still out-numbered, and out-matched.”

Kai glances around with a look of distaste. “How do we know they’re even here?”

“One of Mark’s men said he saw a heavily-guarded cage-wagon, taking some prisoners along the London road. All fit young men, as were the ones who disappeared from his village.”

Kai frowns. “Do you think they are being taken as slaves? Perhaps recruited to some army abroad?”

“Who knows, Kai. But if men from as far away as Cornwall have been captured, you can be sure our territory will not be spared – unless we put a stop to it. Don’t forget young Dane. When he disappeared, on that hunting trip two weeks ago, and we failed to find him, we assumed the Saxons must have ambushed him. But he was young and fit. Perhaps the same fate has befallen him, as all the rest.”

Kai nods. “We can ill afford to lose a single sword.”

“So … you forgive me for dragging you here?” Arthur looks sidelong at Kai.

Kai huffs out a laugh. “If you forgive me for complaining all the way.”

“Done.” Arthur extends a hand, and Kai shakes on the bargain.

~~

In a slightly less run-down part of town, they find a boarding house, and pay for stabling for their horses, and a room for the night.

The room is upstairs.

Neither of them has ever slept on the upper floor of a dwelling. Arthur is fairly certain Kai has never even been on an upper floor, and as they climb the rough stone stairs, Kai glances nervously at his feet, and stays close to the wall.

Arthur makes no remark upon it.

When they arrive at the top landing, Kai turns to him. “Are your feet … tingling?”

They aren’t. “I’m sure we’ll soon get used to it.”

Kai looks as if he is about to say, ‘I don’t want to get used to it’, but he gives an abrupt nod.

They put their saddlebags on the floor beside the bed – there is just one – and go down to get something to eat, and see if they can pick up any clues about the disappearances. With subtlety.

~~

The food is … actually not bad, but Kai is shocked when the red-haired beauty who comes to sit on his lap while he’s eating suggests he pay for any further dalliance. Not that he was interested, but ‘it’s the principle of the thing’ he tells Arthur, as the wench picks herself up off the floor, and flounces away.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Nothing’s free in a city.”

Kai drains his fifth mug of cider, and slams it down. “Nothing’s even cheap.” 

The landlord rests his elbows on the bar, and shakes his head. “Yokels!” 

“So …” Arthur takes a bite out of an apple. “Do you get many strangers around here?” 

“We do, but not many of his kind.” The landlord glances at the axe hanging from Kai’s belt, then gives Arthur a piercing look. “How long d’you think you’ll be staying?”

“Only until we find our friends.” Kai feels Arthur tug on his arm. Perhaps he isn’t being sufficiently subtle. “They’re not lost. We just –”

“They were out when we went to their house,” Arthur cuts in. “We’ll go back tomorrow. But we’d better get some rest before then.”

Arthur grabs him by the arm, and drags him from the bar, and Kai – blowing a kiss to the girl he unceremoniously pitched off his lap, just a few drinks ago – reluctantly lets Arthur haul him up the stairs. 

As Arthur hustles him along the passage to their room, Kai asks, “Did you hear anything about the missing men?” 

The stone walls make everything seem too loud; his voice echoes, and Arthur gives him a warning look.

“No one’s listening,” Kai mutters. “Everyone’s drunk, anyway.”

Arthur glances nervously behind him. “The landlord wasn’t, and neither were his staff.” 

“You’re worrying about nothing, Little Brother.” Kai lightly cuffs the back of Arthur’s head. 

“Ow.”

Well, he thought he did it lightly. “Sorry, Arthur.”

“You’ve had too much to drink.” Arthur pushes a door open.

Kai follows him into their room, and – in his haste to reach the bed – trips over the saddlebags, and nearly lands on his face. 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.” He settles himself on the wooden chair in the corner. 

“‘Keep watch’?” Kai shrugs, and collapses onto the thin mattress. 

“Yes, ‘keep watch.’ There’s no bar on this door. We’re strangers here, and you’d do well to remember it.”

Arthur’s tone cuts him. Over-sensitive when he’s got a few drinks inside him, Kai feels his face twitch; tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He rolls himself in the rough blanket, so that Arthur will not see, and wishes he were home in his own bed – and Arthur with him. 

But sleep evades him. Kai is used to silence all around at night, but there’s no peace here. Every now and then he hears a crash, an altercation, or the dogs all fall to barking. Then, from not far away, a scream pierces the night.

Sword in hand, Arthur leaps to his feet, and starts towards the door; just as quickly, Kai throws off his blanket, and blocks his path. Arthur tries to push past, but Kai restrains him.

“Let me go! Someone’s in trouble.”

“Yes, and if you venture out there, you will be too, and so will I. You said it yourself – we’re strangers here.”

“But Kai … it’s a woman.” A shadow creeps over Arthur’s face.

“I know, Arthur …” Kai squeezes Arthur’s shoulders. “But if we try to put right every wrong in this damn city, we’ll never see home again.”

Arthur sags. “You’re right, of course. Thank you.” 

“Why don’t you get some rest? I can’t sleep anyway.” Not waiting for an answer, Kai takes the chair, and lays his axe across his lap. 

Arthur sighs, then lies down in his place. Kai wonders, to see him so very soon asleep.

At last – well into the small hours – all the noises stop, and silence falls. Once or twice, Kai feels his head begin to nod. He pulls himself upright. He should wake Arthur – let him take over the watch – but Arthur looks so innocent in sleep that Kai can’t bear to.

He wonders what Llud is doing right now. Well, sleeping of course, but Llud is lucky. Tomorrow, Llud will wake up in his own bed. Kai could almost find it in his heart to wish that Arthur had left him at home, and brought Llud with him instead.

Almost. 

He sighs, and slumps a little in his chair.

~~ 

**II**

Kai jerks awake, to find two armed men standing over him. He tries to get to his feet, but one of them shoves him down again, with the haft of his own axe. 

He looks across to the bed; Arthur is sitting up, but keeping very still – another of their unwelcome guests holding a knife under his chin. 

Kai’s stomach lurches.

He fell asleep.

He fell asleep, and let these cut-throats take them.

Fear and guilt carve out a home for themselves in his insides.

Kai sizes up the five strangers in their room, and asks the one he judges to be their leader – a heavily-built man, richly dressed – “What do you want?” 

“Tch! Tch! Never you mind what I want, Old Son. All in good time.” The man ambles over to Arthur, picks up his sword from beside the bed, and examines it. “Nice piece of work. Not cheap either.”

He looks speculatively from Arthur to Kai, and back again. “Well, you’re an odd couple, aren’t you? A Celt and a Saxon, sharing a room?”

“This Saxon is my bondsman.” Arthur casts a look full of daggers at Kai.

Kai looks at the floor.

“His name is Brett. My people hold his family hostage. A family who will die, for his poor guardianship of me, this night.”

“Well, you can fight about it later, Girls.” The man glances at his companions, who break out into raucous peals of laughter. “You’re both a bit skinny, but you’re obviously fighting men, so I suppose you’ll do. Pack ’em up, and ship ’em out.”

The man nearest to Kai prods him in the ribs. “On yer feet.”

Kai gets up, and his hands are bound in front of him. The same is done to Arthur. 

The leader of the gang pokes a finger at Arthur’s chest. “What do they call you, then?” 

Arthur looks him in the eye, and – with a flinch only someone who knew him well would see – says: “Morgen.”

“Well, I’m Ezra. Yes, my mother ’ated me. ’S why I’m such a cunt.” He scratches his ample belly. “But I’m a reasonable cunt, so you two don’t give me any trouble, and we’ll get along fine.” 

Somehow, Kai doubts it.

They are taken down the stairs at the back of the rooming house, then shoved up some steps, and into a cage made of wooden slats, mounted on the back of a wagon – like the one Mark’s man described. When they have climbed inside, their captors tie the door shut, with some twine.

“Arthur, I’m –”

Arthur gives an urgent shake of his head.

Kai curses himself. He looks around. Their captors are sitting on the front of the cart; they don’t seem to have heard him.

“You are still my bondsman, _Brett_ , and when we get out of here, you will pay, with many lashes, for your negligence on watch.”

Kai scans Arthur’s face, hoping that at least some of this venom in his voice is just an act. But he sees no hint of it. 

He lowers his gaze, and looks at his hands, instead.

A few moments later, for no apparent reason, Arthur shuffles across the cart to sit beside him. The motion, as the horses pull the cart over stones and potholes, makes them bump against each other, and Arthur does nothing to prevent it.

Kai takes some comfort from this act of mercy.

Very quietly, Arthur says, “At least we’re going to find out what happened to those men.”

But Kai feels too upset and angry with himself to look on the bright side.

~~

As dawn begins to spread its grey light from the east, they see that they are travelling through a wasteland of broken columns and huge stones, with a proliferation of hovels and makeshift shelters huddling amongst the rubble.

They rattle on for another few miles, until their destination looms into view: a huge, curving wall, rearing above them. The wagon heads straight towards it. A gate opens; guards stand aside and salute; the cart enters a tunnel, then comes out the other side, into a vast open space. The sides go up in steps. All around, people are working: sweeping sand, repairing damaged stonework, and cleaning weaponry.

“I ’ope you’re keeping an eye on the masonry,” Ezra calls out to a man who appears to be the foreman. “Can’t ’ave the rabble carting away our livelihood.”

The man wipes sweat off his brow. “We need more guards, Ezra, and they need to patrol properly at night. Thievin’ bastards around ’ere’ll carry anything away – barring the wife’s mother. Three decent chunks of marble we lost last night – and the rest of it. I’m at me wits’ end. No sooner I repair the west façade, they start taking chunks out of the east. It never stops.” 

Ezra grunts. “Come and see me later.” Then he turns to the men still sitting on the front of the cart, and gestures at his captives. “Get these two to my office. Come on! Chop-chop!” 

The guards unfasten the cage door, then hustle Kai and Arthur out, through a door in the wall surrounding the central space, and along a narrow path, past an unending row of cells. Some of the occupants – most of them young men – stare at them through the bars. Others sit sunk in despondency, paying no attention. 

They are taken to a room that evidently serves as Ezra’s place of work. Ezra sits down behind a battered old desk that must have seen service with the legions. Two of the four guards come in, and stand behind them.

Ezra spreads his hands flat on the desk. “Right then, Lads. Here’s the situation. When the Romans decided they’d had enough of us, they very kindly left me this wonderful arena in which to do business. I like to think of it as my gift from Rome. And I’m grateful for it, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve got my eye on an easy life, in a nice little villa in the south of Gaul, with beautiful girls feeding me peeled grapes until the end of my days. And to realise my dream – and everyone needs a dream, don’t you agree? – I need lots, and lots, of money. And I don’t much care how it arrives in my coffers. You getting me?”

Arthur nods, tight-lipped.

“So, here’s the deal. People like to watch a good fight, don’t they? And people love to bet.”

Kai can’t deny that.

“Well, to be truthful, there ain’t much else to do around these parts. Drinking and whoring, and believe me, the whores are a scabrous bunch. So, you – and all my other little friends in the luxury accommodation you passed along the way – are here to fight for the amusement of the masses. Think of it as a public service, if you like.”

“‘Public service’?” Arthur raises his chin. “So, you capture fighting men – men who are needed in their own lands – and instead of defending their loved ones, they are forced to fight, for nothing more than your profit, and the bloodthirsty pleasure of the mob.” 

Ezra shakes his head. “They’re fighting for more than that – their lives. As you will be. And your freedom, if you rack up enough wins. I’m a fair man, and even if I weren’t, there’s not much profit to be made from a gladiator who never loses. You win ten fights on the trot, and you go free. Until then, you’ll be well fed, and kept clean. But try to escape – you won’t get a second chance. Crowd likes a fight, but they’ll pay through the nose to see a good execution. So. Do we understand each other?”

“Oh, I think I understand you, very well,” Arthur says coldly.

Ezra frowns, and makes a note on a scroll, then turns to Kai. “Well?”

Kai nods. “I understand.”

“Good. Now, Morgen – apart from these lovely pieces of work –” He indicates Arthur’s sword and Kai’s axe, propped against the wall behind his desk – “what weapons are you two familiar with?”

“Why should I tell you?” 

“Because you’re more likely to survive if you do,” Ezra says bluntly.

Kai sees the logic of it. “The axe is mine. I also fight with the sword, and short sword. The spear as well, mounted, and on foot.”

Arthur heaves a sigh. “The same – though I have no skill with the axe. I am the superior swordsman.”

Ezra nods. “Thank you. Glad you’ve seen sense.” He makes more notes, then looks up at Kai. “I like that you’re versatile. You, at least, might make it out of here.” Then he directs his gaze over their shoulders. “Get ’em hobbled.”

There is a clanking noise, and Kai looks down to see iron shackles being put on his, and Arthur’s feet, and locked into place. He heaves a sigh. When he looks up once more, he sees Arthur staring at Ezra, with pure hatred in his eyes.

But Ezra is impassive. Though he has taken note of Arthur’s rage, it doesn’t bother him one jot. All he says is: “Check their teeth, Maximus.”

Maximus – who earns his name by standing a head taller than any man Kai has ever seen – steps round in front of Arthur, and, with his huge fingers, tries to force Arthur’s mouth open.

Arthur makes his two bound hands into a single fist, and, with a swift upward strike, sends Maximus to the floor, choking, and clutching at his throat. 

Ezra shakes his head, and makes a tutting sound. “You really are a very naughty boy, aren’t you, Morgen? I was hoping we could all rub along, but …” He nods.

The second guard kicks the back of Arthur’s legs, dropping him to his knees, then grabs Arthur by the hair, pulls his head back, and holds his nose. If he’s to breathe, Arthur has no choice but to open his mouth.

Ezra pushes himself from his seat, makes his way round the table, and wags a podgy finger in Arthur’s face. “No biting. You know I’ll slit your throat without a second thought.” Then he sticks his finger into Arthur’s mouth, and works it around.

Kai feels Arthur’s rage and humiliation, as if they were his own.

When Ezra is satisfied, he pats Arthur on the cheek. “Good Boy. All done.”

Now it’s Kai’s turn. With just one guard left standing, he considers tackling Ezra the way Arthur did Maximus. But they are shackled, and Arthur is still on his knees. They’d both be cut down. 

Kai opens his mouth, and steels himself. But this time, Ezra merely takes a look. What he did to Arthur was not part of the procedure; it was a lesson.

“Right then!” Ezra rubs his hands together. “Let’s get you to your accommodation. On your feet, Morgen!”

There is the slightest pause before Arthur stands, and Kai sees a flicker of interest cross Ezra’s face as he turns to lead them out.

The second guard walks between Arthur and Kai. Maximus, now sufficiently recovered, but still rubbing his throat, brings up the rear. Kai is glad he stands between this man and Arthur, because Maximus – his gaze fixed on the back of Arthur’s head – has murder in his eyes.

They shuffle forward as fast as the shackles will allow, but progress is slow.

“Come on, pick yer feet up.” Ezra glances back at them, grinning. “Or I could get Max there to carry one of you under each arm.” He jerks his head towards the rear, and Maximus makes a sour face.

They reach the end of the passage. The last cell looks empty, but they can hear a loud snoring sound, though they can’t see who’s making it. The guards open the barred entrance to the cell next-door, and shove them inside. 

“Oh, and one more thing.” Ezra holds up a hand. “No throwing your weight around in there – not that you’ve got much of it to throw. Save your fighting spirit for the ring. Don’t go getting yourself injured, without I make some money from it. And anyone gives you any trouble – which wouldn’t surprise me, pretty boys like you – just make sure you report it. I’ll get Max to sort ’em out.”

~~

**III**

The cell is fairly spacious, with a few stone benches and straw pallets around the edges. A low wall provides some privacy for the pit latrine in the corner. And daylight comes in through the iron grating that separates them from the guards and sand-sweepers that pass along the path between the cells and the arena.

An acrid stink rises from the latrine, and mingles with a heavier smell that Kai can’t place: a rank, animal aroma. But all in all, it could be worse.

Eight men, all shackled, sit around the walls, on benches or pallets, or on the floor: not one of them near any of the others. As he and Arthur find somewhere to sit, one or two of the men look up, but most don’t bother.

Kai swallows, and says quietly, “Ar– Morgen, I’m sorry. This is my fault. I fell asleep. I –”

Arthur shakes his head. “There were five of them, and all were armed. They’d have taken us anyway.”

“But if I’d kept my mouth shut –”

“And if I hadn’t brought us here in the first place …” Arthur gives him a weary smile. “I’d be willing to bet the landlord of that boarding house where we stayed was already on the look-out for strangers who might be of use to this man, Ezra. We walked in with targets painted on our backs.”

“But how in hell are we to get out of here?”

“Don’t even try it,” the gaunt young man sitting nearest to them volunteers. “All the exits are watched. The keys to these shackles are in Ezra’s office, guarded day and night. And if you do try escaping, and you’re caught …”

“What happens?” Kai asks.

“You’ll see.” An older man nods grimly. “We’re ‘lucky.’ Our cell’s near one of the gates, so we sometimes get to see what’s left when they drag it past us on the way out.”

Kai exchanges an uneasy glance with Arthur.

Then Arthur seems to come to a decision. He gets to his feet, and shuffles to the middle of the cell. “Listen, you men. They want to make us fight each other, just to entertain the crowds? Well, I, for one, am not going to do it. And neither should you. We’re not each other’s enemies. Why should we fight?”

“Because we want to live?” the older man says bluntly.

Arthur shakes his head. “You don’t understand. If we all refused to take up arms against each other, they’d have no choice but to let us go.”

The older man huffs out a breath. 

“Who’s with me?” Arthur looks at each man in turn. 

A ripple of derisive snorts and sniggers runs round the cell, until all eight of the them are laughing at Arthur.

Arthur frowns. He’s not used to being laughed at. “It wouldn’t have to be just us. We’ll pass the word to those in other cells. All stand together against this barbarism! Now, who’s with me?”

All eight men get caught up in gales of humourless laughter. 

Arthur stares at them, incomprehension on his face. “Not one of you?”

Kai gets up, shuffles over to him, and takes his arm. “Arthur, please – sit down.”

Arthur gapes at Kai, as if he doesn’t know who he is. “Not even you?”

“Two men alone can make no difference here. These men …” Kai looks around and spits in the dirt. “These maggots care for no one but themselves. Why should we try to save them? They will not stand with us. If we must fight for our lives, then fight we will.”

Arthur looks vexed.

Kai puts his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, and looks intently at him. “We will fight. And we will get out of here. Then, when we are free, we might stand a chance of ending this madness.”

“You really think they will let us go free, even if we win?” 

“Win ten fights, you go free,” the older man confirms. “Ezra’s a bastard, but ’e won’t lie to you.”

Arthur gives him a doubtful look.

“It’s true,” another says. “I saw one of our lot walk out of here, two days ago. Ezra keeps his word.”

Arthur frowns. “An honest villain?”

“I heard he gave the feller a share of the take ’an all,” pipes up the youngest. Kai has already started thinking of him as ‘Bony.’

“It makes sense, I suppose.” Arthur shakes his head. “Pay them off, and they won’t come back, looking for revenge.” Dejected, he sits down on the bench once more.

Kai puts an arm around his shoulder.

But the older man shuffles closer to them, and – in a lowered voice – says, “Wouldn’t let ’em see you being too pally, either.” 

Kai removes his arm. “Why’s that?” 

“Just …” The man blinks. He casts a furtive glance in the direction of a weasel-faced fellow sitting near the bars, apparently not paying them any attention. “Just … don’t.”

Kai shifts, so that he and Arthur are no longer touching, and asks their new mentor, “What’s your name?” 

“Brynn. But it does no good learning people’s names around here.”

“Why’s that?” Kai straightway wishes he hadn’t asked, because now, Brynn will have to say it out loud.

“It just makes it harder, when you have to kill them.”

Arthur frowns. “I don’t understand. You speak as though you’ve been here a long time. If I may ask, how have you survived, and yet not won enough fights to gain your freedom?”

Brynn grimaces. “Three times now, I’ve been on my last fight, and lost. But the crowd likes me. Only the gods know why, but they give me the thumbs-up every time, and save my skin.” He spits on the ground. “Keep me here to fight another day, the bastards.” 

Kai spreads his hands. “What’s wrong with that? It means there’s still a chance you’ll get out of here.”

Brynn shakes his head. “Every time I get to my last fight, Ezra puts me up against someone I got no chance of beating.”

“So how does anyone get out of here?” 

“Oh, they don’t do that to everyone.” Brynn smiles, showing teeth. “It’s just me they got it in for. I’m special. Don’t ask me why – just take my advice. Don’t go talking back at ’im in charge, and don’t let ’em think you care about anyone, or anything, except winning your next fight.”

Kai feels a chill. Even in the short time they’ve been here, Arthur has earned a black mark in Ezra’s book, and Brynn has got the measure of them both. Kai gets up, and shuffles over to a bench on the opposite side of the room.

Arthur looks across at Kai, holds his gaze for a moment, and nods. Kai sees that Arthur understands. From now, until they leave, they must be like strangers to one another. 

From their captor’s point of view, it will make sense. After all, why would Morgen’s bondsman want anything to do with him? Shouldn’t Brett relish the chance to see his master die in the arena? Perhaps even kill him, himself?

Perhaps …

A horrible sound from the next cell rends the pensive silence. 

Kai jumps to his feet, and looks behind him. “What in the name of –”

“They’re feeding the lions,” Bony says.

“Lions! Where did they get lions?”

“The Romans brought some here, many years ago,” Arthur says. “These must be their descendants.”

“They don’t feed ’em much though,” Brynn tells him. “Don’t want ’em to get sluggish. They’re just whetting the beasts’ appetites for this afternoon.” 

“This afternoon?” Kai says. “What happens then?”

“Hold up – we’re next.”

A woman comes to the bars, bearing a tray of roasted meat and hunks of bread. Another brings a pitcher. Brynn edges a large bowl towards the bars, and the woman fills it with water. Bony immediately dips a mug into the bowl, and takes a long drink. Then he takes some more.

“Oi! Leave some for the rest of us.” A large, well-muscled man – Kai puts him down for a blacksmith in his previous life – knocks the mug from Bony’s hand.

“But I’m thirsty,” Bony protests.

The blacksmith raises a fist.

Bony flinches, and scuttles off to join the queue the rest have formed, to collect their meat and bread. But when the blacksmith has had his drink, he swaggers over, pushes Bony out of the line, and takes his place.

Perhaps he didn’t hear the speech about not throwing your weight around in the cells.

There is enough food for everyone, but the last few pieces of meat have lots of fat and gristle on them; Arthur lets Bony into the line ahead of him, so Arthur gets the worst of it, and as they take their seats, to eat their meals, the blacksmith fixes Arthur with an ugly sneer.

Arthur seems to take no notice, but Kai can’t help worrying. With a sword in his hand, Arthur is unmatched; in here, he has no weapon. If Blacksmith decides to make Arthur the target of his bullying in Bony’s stead, Kai may have no choice but to make his allegiance plain for all to see. 

As Kai tears at the bread, and chews on his meat, he makes his movements bigger than they need to be; he stares at Blacksmith’s nose, until the man turns and looks his way.

Blacksmith grins. 

Bony has gone to sit next to Arthur, and when they have finished their food, Arthur asks, “How often must we fight?” 

“Every other day, if we survive. Next show’s this afternoon.” 

“Your first fight, they let you use whatever weapon you had when you came in here,” Brynn says. “It’s just to give you a start. See how you shape up.” 

“Today’s my second fight.” Bony wipes sweat from his brow. He doesn’t look hopeful of seeing another sunrise.

Not that they could see any such thing from in here.

“If I’m going to have to fight this afternoon, I think I’ll get some rest.” Arthur gets up, and shuffles towards the nearest pallet.

Blacksmith blocks his way. “That’s mine.”

There are five pallets in the cell. 

A muscle twitches in Arthur’s jaw. He goes to another pallet, and lies down.

Kai gets slowly to his feet, shuffles over to the pallet Blacksmith claimed, and lies down on it. Though he can feel the rage emanating from the big man, he closes his eyes, as if perfectly at ease.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. _**That’s my pallet.”**_

Blacksmith’s voice nearly deafens Kai’s right ear, but Kai doesn’t move a muscle. “Nothing here belongs to any of us – even our lives. And you were not using the pallet.”

“Gaaaarrr!” Blacksmith charges across the cell, pushes Bony off his bench, and draws back his foot to kick him in the guts. 

Bony curls up in self-defence; Arthur gets to his feet.

A loud clang draws all eyes towards the bars. 

“Oi! No fighting in the cells!” A man – one of the guards – who looks like he is made of gristle, slaps a wooden rod against his palm, then points it at Blacksmith. “Twenty lashes.”

“He started it!” Blacksmith yells, pointing at the recumbent Kai.

Kai raises an eyebrow.

“Twenty lashes, this afternoon,” says Gristle to Blacksmith. “You forfeit today’s fight by default. You’re right back where you started. Ten to go. Now si’ down.”

Blacksmith stands staring at Gristle, his fists clenched by his sides. A look of incomprehension creeps across his face. He breathes heavily through his nose. “No ... it’s not fair,” he murmurs. “That’s not fair.”

Gristle shakes his head. “You might not have noticed, but life ain’t fair. Now sit down, or you’ll get twenty more.”

Ezra appears beside him. “What’s all this then? Did I hear mention of ‘flogging’?” He rubs his hands together. “I do love a good flogging.” 

“Just this one, causing trouble.” Gristle indicates Blacksmith. “Says he started it!” He laughs, and points at Kai.

“Does he indeed?” Ezra gives Kai a thoughtful look. “Alright, Boys and Girls, settle down. Any more noise from this cell, you’ll all be in the poo. Get it?”

Everyone but Arthur and Kai – even Blacksmith – mumbles, “Yes, Ezra.”

“Morgen? Brett?”

They both recite the liturgy: “Yes, Ezra.”

“All had your din-dins?”

This time everyone responds: “Yes, Ezra.”

Ezra nods approvingly, and looks around the cell one last time, before strolling off down the passage.

When he has gone, Blacksmith just stands there trembling for a while, then sinks down onto a bench. A few small whimpers escape him. 

Kai looks around. The rest of them – apart from Arthur – are smirking at Blacksmith, as if this is no more than he deserves. Most likely he has been bullying them for days, but Kai can’t help feeling a twinge of guilt, that his actions have led this man to earn himself a flogging.

He shakes his head at himself. He has enough to feel guilty about already; Blacksmith must have known the rules.

Kai closes his eyes, and tries to sleep. 

~~

**IV**

It feels to Kai as if he has only just dropped off, when a horrible metallic crashing sound awakes him.

“On your feet!” Ezra shouts, banging cheerfully on the bars. “It’s playtime!”

A general commotion ensues. Men push and shove each other to get to the water bucket, or the latrine. Arthur jerks his head towards the bucket; he and Kai get up and shuffle across the room towards it, to exchange a few words, under cover of getting a drink.

“I know we will come through,” Arthur mutters, as they stand in line. “None of this is your fault. Don’t let guilt make you careless, or I will never forgive myself.”

Kai just blinks and nods to show he understands, and as he moves away, he feels Arthur’s hand on him, giving his arm a brief squeeze.

Then, one by one, they are taken out. The guards, well-practised, hold their swords at the ready while the cell gate is open, in case the prisoners should try to rush them – though how that would be possible in the shackles is hard to see.

They lead each man away, until only Kai and the weasel-faced fellow are left. Then an angry-looking, red-faced man gestures at Kai, takes him out, and closes the gate behind him, leaving Weasel sitting on his bench.

Kai frowns. “Doesn’t he have to fight?”

Red just shoves him in the back. “Don’t you worry. They’ll fetch ’im later.” 

So Kai does what he’s told: shuffles out of the cell and down the tunnel. He can see Arthur in the distance, just disappearing around the curve in the passageway. 

Arthur will be alright: at least, this time, with his own sword in his hand. 

They come to a row of smaller cells. Red glances inside one of them. “Is that your weapon?” 

Kai peers down the length of the narrow room, and sees his axe on a bench, near the far end. “Yes, that’s my axe.” He can’t wait to feel it in his hand again: a little piece of home. 

Red pushes him inside, locks the gate, then takes a key from a ring on his belt, and throws it through the bars. “Better get yer shackles off, unless you want to fight with an ’andicap.”

Kai does as he is bid.

“Key.” Red holds out his hand, palm up, just outside the bars.

Kai rubs his ankles. “What if I don’t give it back?”

Red grins. “Then you can stay in there till you rot, far as I’m concerned.”

Kai snorts. He puts his hand through the bars, meaning to drop the key into Red’s palm, but Red grips his hand, and forces it back, against the wrist joint.

Kai gasps with pain; the key clatters to the floor.

Red presses a little harder. “And no more smart-arse questions!” 

His fingers almost flat against the bars, Kai feels sweat break out on his brow. “No, no more, I swear. Please, let me go.”

Red releases him.

“Thank you.” 

Kai means it, too. He could ill afford to have his right wrist weakened any more. Rubbing it, he goes down to the far end of the cell, and gingerly picks up his axe. He will have to win his fight quickly – perhaps use the axe two-handed. He curses himself for speaking, when he should have kept silent, yet again.

But still, he feels a little better with his own axe in his hands. He hefts it. Yes, he will come through alright. Then he will have a day to nurse his injury, before he has to fight again.

At least, with communication between himself and Arthur so restricted, he will not have to confess this latest foolishness.

A mug of water and a plate of bread and cheese await Kai on a low table. He drinks the water, but he feels too nervous to eat, and anyway, he doesn’t fight well on a full belly. He can eat when this is over with. Or so he hopes.

The bars at this end of the cell look out onto the arena itself. Across the fighting area from where he is caged, Kai can see the fronts of other cells, with other prisoners looking out. Arthur is not among them. Perhaps he is on this side of the arena, out of view. 

Four tiers of seating rise above the level of the fighting ground: the lower rows, already filling up. People hawk food from trays; a general hum of excitement fills the air. 

Then a bell rings, and the spectators hurry to their seats. The bell is struck twice, and the sand-sweepers scurry from the arena. Then, three times, and silence falls.

From just above Kai, and to the left, comes Ezra’s voice.

“Welcome, one and all. We have some great contests for you lovely people today. New faces and old, come here – well, brought here – to fight for your pleasure.”

The cloud hoots, and stamps, and whistles.

“But first, today, we have a special treat for you! A flogging! And we all love a good flogging, don’t we?”

The noise is almost deafening.

Two guards drag Blacksmith out into the arena. Still shackled, the poor fool looks wildly around him, as if he thinks he might escape. They bind him to a wooden frame at one end of the arena.

Then Maximus comes out, carrying a fearsome-looking whip. Light glints along its length, from metal studs set into it. 

Kai turns away, and sits with his head in his hands. Above the noise of the crowd counting the blows, he hears Blacksmith’s howls of agony. 

When the twenty strokes Blacksmith was promised have been laid on the man’s naked back, Ezra says calmly: “Give ’im another one from me, Maximus. I don’t like bullies in my cells.”

“No, please, Ezra …” 

Then a final crack; a final plaintive cry.

Despite himself, Kai blinks back tears.

At least it isn’t Arthur out there, under the lash.

As Blacksmith is cut down, and dragged out of the arena, to the accompaniment of derisive cheers, Kai wonders how this sickness came to afflict these people. Perhaps they spread it like a plague amongst themselves, from living too close together.

“On to the fights,” Ezra announces. “And first up today, we have one of our newcomers – name of Morgen. He claims to be a bit handy with a sword, but we shall see. Pitted against him, is a man fighting for his tenth victory.” 

Kai feels his heart begin to pound. The man Arthur is up against must be a competent fighter: one who will be desperate to win, and gain his freedom.

“Yes, folks. Today, we might have to say a fond farewell to – Ewan of Cornwall!”

So … they know what happened to at least one of Mark’s missing men. And if he can, Arthur will have to deny Ewan his liberty, and perhaps his life.

That’s not what they came here for.

“Or we might not,” Ezra says. “Who knows? Place your wagers with the men in red, who will be coming among you, and get ready to enjoy what should be an interesting fight.”

Kai sees a number of men in bright red tunics going along the rows, exchanging coins and tokens with the spectators.

The bell is struck once more; a hush descends, and then one of the cage-fronts makes a grating sound, and slowly rises.

A young, dark-haired man steps out, his sword held ready, and a look of hope and determination on his face. Kai knows him by sight; has fought alongside him, as has Arthur. Kai feels sick. 

“Ewan!” Ezra roars; a raucous cheer goes up.

Then Arthur appears, quite close by, his sword raised.

“And please give a warm welcome to new boy – Morgen!”

This time, the crowd cheers more in duty than enthusiasm, but Kai sees Ewan’s confidence drain out of him when the young warrior looks across the arena, and realises who he has to fight.

Ewan comes closer, and stands looking up at the podium. “Ezra, this isn’t fair. After all the money you’ve made from me – pitting me against the finest sword in the land, for my last fight?”

Ezra cocks his head. “Morgen? The finest sword in the land, is he? How come I’ve never heard of him, then?”

Ewan’s expression closes off. He turns towards Arthur, who looks intently back at him.

“Sorry, Ezra,” Ewan says, without looking up at him again. “I was mistaken.”

A contemplative silence follows. Then Ezra says loudly, “Well, if Ewan is over his little panic attack, perhaps we can begin the proceedings!”

A ripple of merriment goes round the stadium, and a few calls of, “Get on with it!” can be heard. 

“Take your positions, Gentlemen.”

At the bell, the two men begin circling each other. 

Kai doesn’t want to watch this – but he must.

Ewan’s competent with the sword, but he’s not in Arthur’s class, and – knowing his only chance is to catch Arthur off-balance from the start – he launches a ferocious first attack.

But Arthur defends himself in his usual methodical manner; Ewan is left slashing at empty air, desperate to get in a single hit. Neither has even drawn first blood before Arthur manages to trip Ewan.

He lands heavily; his sword flies from his hand, and Arthur sets his own at Ewan’s throat. Then, looking as if he has just eaten something foul, Arthur throws his sword away.

“Pick up your sword, Morgen,” Ezra says firmly. “Decision’s not yours to make.”

For a moment, Arthur’s eyes meet Kai’s. Arthur picks up his sword.

Ewan stays flat out on the sand, his body rigid, his arms spread wide, as when he fell.

“So! What’s it to be, Fellow Citizens? Is this the last we see of Ewan? Or should he live to fight another day?”

Many of the spectators must have lost money on this fight: a proven warrior, against a newcomer of whom they’ve never heard – and some have already stuck their hands out, with the thumbs down. 

Arthur looks as if he might be sick.

Then a few people start stamping their feet, and chanting, “Life! Life! Life!” and this spreads all around the stadium.

Ewan slowly gets to his feet, and turns towards Ezra. He stands waiting, with his arms hanging by his sides.

“Life! Life! Life!”

At last, Ezra strikes the bell for silence. He spreads his arms wide. “There you are Ewan! They like you. Isn’t popularity a wonderful thing? You live to fight another day.”

Arthur looks as relieved as Ewan.

“Back to your luxury accommodation then, Lads. Leave your weapons in the ring as you go.”

Both warriors return to their cells. A thickset man, who must be in charge of the armoury, collects the two swords, and the sweepers come out to smooth the sand that was disturbed during the fight.

Kai takes another drink, and rips off some bread to eat. The anxiety has made him hungry. 

In the next fight, a man in some strange leather armour, with a Roman-style sword – a gladius – has to fight a man with a trident and a net.

It’s messy and brutal. Both men sustain bloody wounds before the one with the trident sweeps the swordsman off his feet, and ensnares him in the net, and – when the crowd decides it has used up its store of mercy for the day – gives him a painful death. It isn’t even quick.

Still, Kai makes himself watch the next two fights, from beginning to end. If he’s to fight with unfamiliar weapons, he needs to see how they are used; gauge their faults and their advantages.

Two men fight with spears and huge Roman-style shields; the fight is stopped when both are too badly wounded to carry on. 

After that, Brynn comes out, armed with a heavy spiked club, and – using his superior mobility to advantage – makes short work of a larger opponent armed with a long spear, then trails back to his cell, a defeated look upon his face. 

The bells rings, signalling an interval. Men and women take more food around on trays. Minstrels come out and sing, and three masked dwarves harmlessly throw one another around the ring.

Balking at the disrespect this shows the men who have died today, Kai lies down on the bench, and tries to ignore the catcalls, and sounds of merriment. 

As the show comes to an end, Maximus appears at the bars on the other side of the cell. “You’re up next.” 

Kai feels his heart begin to pound – though still less than when he had to watch Arthur fight. He hears himself announced: “Brett, the Sax with the Axe”, and gets to his feet, hefting his weapon.

Only then does he realise that, having tired of the sound of Ezra’s patter, he hasn’t even heard his opponent’s name. It is no matter. When the bars are raised, Kai goes out into the arena, ready to beat whoever they pit against him.

Before he even has a chance to look around, a blue-painted Pict rushes at him, aiming a spear at his chest. Kai side-steps, swings his axe, and with the haft, catches the Pict a heavy blow to the spine. 

Felled like a tree, the man writhes and twitches on the ground; his legs flop uselessly. 

Kai deals a death blow, splitting the man’s skull with the blade.

The crowd roars its approval, but as the bell sounds, a hush descends.

“Quick work, Brett. Very quick. Too quick, in fact. You’re supposed to wait for the crowd’s say-so – and mine – before you kill a downed opponent.”

“But –”

“No buts, Old Son.” Ezra scratches his chin. “You broke the rules.”

A murmur goes up from the crowd, and swells to a chant: “Flog ’im … _Flog ’im … Flog ’im!”_

A smirk spreads across Ezra’s face.

Kai waits in silence, trying not to look afraid. 

Then Ezra shakes his head reprovingly at the crowd. “Come on, you heartless rabble! You’ve had one flogging today – don’t get greedy.” He grins at Kai. “You haven’t been here long, so I’ll let you off this time.” 

Kai lets out the breath he was holding.

“Maybe no one told you the procedure. But if it happens again, there’ll be consequences – get me?”

“Yes, Ezra.”

“Off you go then.”

Kai heads back towards his cell.

“Don’t forget to leave that lovely axe of yours in the ring.”

Kai doesn’t want to leave his weapon, but – the way Ezra runs this place – he knows he has no choice, so he leans it against the wall. The cell slams shut behind him, and he sees the armourer take his axe away.

At least he’s still alive, and his wrist seems no worse than before the fight. And the man he killed was only a Pict. He’d have killed him without a second thought, if they’d met outside the arena. What difference does it make? It was a fair fight. The Pict had the advantage of surprise; had as much chance as he did. More.

He’s seen enough death for one day, so he sits with his back turned towards the arena, and eats his bread and cheese. The shackles have been taken from the cell; he wonders why.

After a while, Red comes back, unlocks the cell, and takes him, at sword-point, to an area open to the sky, and locks him in once more. 

At one end of this room, the shackles he was wearing before lie on a bench, next to a pile of rags. At the other end, above a tiled area, Kai sees a bucket attached to a pole, at just over head-height. 

“Strip off, leave your clothes by the door, and stand over there. Soap’s on the bench.”

Kai looks uncertainly at Red, but the man’s back is turned. He seems disinterested in the whole procedure. Near the rags, Kai finds a lump of yellow stuff – the soap. He strips, leaves his clothes on the bench, and stands beneath the bucket. It has holes in the bottom.

A woman appears, leaning over it. She has a pitcher of water in her hands. Her long hair falls, framing a lovely oval face, but she looks very tired – her eyes, lacking in hope. And though he’s in no position to help himself, let alone anyone else, Kai wishes he could ease her burden.

He smiles up at her. “If you’re going to pour cold water over me, perhaps you’d tell me your name first.” 

“Aylia,” she whispers. Then she shakes her head, and glances at the guard. 

Perhaps she’s not supposed to talk to the prisoners.

She pours water into the bucket, and as it sprays out of the holes, Kai washes under the rain-shower. It feels pleasant and refreshing in the oppressive heat. They could use this idea back home ... if they ever get home.

He glances up, and sees Aylia lingering: watching him soap himself. He grins at her, and covers his privates. Blushing, Aylia disappears from view. 

When the water runs out, Kai dries himself with some of the rags, and pulls his clothes on. 

“You done in there yet?” Red takes a quick glance over his shoulder, then turns around. “Shackles.” He gestures at them. 

Kai puts the shackles back on his own feet. 

“Over here.”

Kai comes to the bars.

Red reaches through, locks the shackles, then opens the door. “Come on, then.”

As Kai is shuffling forward, the crowd in the arena takes up a shout, and then Kai hears that same terrible noise he heard when they fed the lions. Amidst the din, he can hear screams as well. He looks at Red, a question in his eyes.

Red grins. “That’s what happens if they don’t like you.” He nudges Kai in the ribs, and takes him back to join the others in their cell. 

~~

**V**

Arthur’s heart leaps to see Kai, safe and well. Their eyes meet. They quickly turn away, and Arthur tries to hide his relief, but Brynn sees it, and gives him the briefest nod.

A few minutes later, the guards bring back the skinny young man who spoke to them earlier in the day. He looks ready to burst out of his skin. 

“I won!” He throws his arms out wide. “I won! I can’t believe it! The Gods must be on my side!”

Arthur shakes his head. “That kind of thinking will get you killed, the very next time you fight.” 

The young man scowls, and flops down on a bench.

Soon after, Maximus drags the man who was flogged into the cell, and dumps him on a vacant pallet. The man’s back is a mess of ugly welts and rips, and has been smeared with something that looks like tar. Still unconscious – he’s passed out from the pain – he doesn’t make a sound.

Arthur feels rage swelling inside his chest; the rage he’s been fighting hard to keep in check. It will get him nowhere, except deeper into trouble. He stands at the bars, looking out at the small part of the arena they can see from their cell, trying to think of a plan; trying without success.

When the sun is low enough to cast long shadows across the sand, the women bring more food, and everyone who can, gets to his feet and stands in line to get his share. Brynn sits, methodically chewing his way through his meal, with a look of resignation. The skinny youngster eats greedily: his face shining with the light of hope.

The injured man, awake at last, moans softly, but he doesn’t try to rise. 

Arthur gets a better piece of meat this time, but sees Kai hanging back, apparently intent on being last in line. Arthur looks at him, a question in his eyes.

Kai just nods in reassurance, and when his turn comes, he takes both remaining pieces of meat and bread, and goes over to the man still lying on his pallet. He places the better portions of each, next to the man’s head, and says, “Here’s your share of the food.” 

The man doesn’t even look at the food, or Kai. 

Kai gently lays a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Blacksmith. Supper-time.” 

The man raises his head. “How did you know I was a –?” Then he closes his eyes, and pushes the food away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You have to eat, or you won’t get better.”

“I’d fought and won eight fights. I thought I had a chance … Now I’m back where I started.” He turns his face to the wall. “I’ll never see them again.”

Kai sighs; he leaves the food, and goes to sit on the bench across from Arthur.

Arthur tries to communicate, with a shake of his head, and a look of sympathy, that this is not Kai’s fault, but Kai bites his lip and looks away. Then he sets about his own meal.

The skinny youth sidles towards the blacksmith, looking hungrily at his food.

Arthur snaps his fingers. “Hey! Don’t even think about it.” 

“But it’ll go to waste!”

“Leave it,” Arthur says. “He may be hungry later.”

Disgruntled, the youth subsides.

~~

Dusk has fallen. By the flickering light of the candles in the sconces outside the cell, Arthur can see only seven men sitting around the walls; this morning, there were ten. Three of their cell-mates have died this day. One of them is the pointy-nosed fellow, of whom Brynn seemed nervous. Arthur can’t remember the faces of the other men. He feels a stab of guilt.

Perhaps Brynn’s right; perhaps it’s better never to have known their names. 

Arthur sighs. It’s been a long day; time to think about getting some rest. Kai has already claimed one of the five pallets, and is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. The other pallets are all occupied as well, but – mindful of Brynn’s warning – Arthur doesn’t ask Kai whether he may share. 

Brynn notices him looking round uncertainly, and pats his own pallet. “Kip down here, if you like. I don’t bite.”

Kai looks up sharply, then sees that Arthur has little choice but to sleep beside someone else, if they are not to be seen together. He gives Arthur a brief nod, then gestures at the bony youth, who still has nowhere to lie down.

“I don’t think I can sleep,” the young man says. 

“You don’t sleep properly, then before too long you might find yourself sleeping forever.”

The young man shrugs, and lies down, with his back to Kai.

Then all is quiet, apart from the occasional footfall, as the sentry does his rounds. Soon, even that ceases.

Once, in the night, Brynn turns over, throws an arm around Arthur, and murmurs, “Gavyn …” then he makes some sharp little sounds of pain in his throat. 

Arthur gently removes Brynn’s arm, and strokes his forehead until he becomes quiet again. Brynn hasn’t told Arthur what prompted his warning not to be “too pally”, but Arthur can guess.

He falls back into an uneasy sleep.

~~

As the dawn light begins to creep into their cell, Kai looks up, and sees Blacksmith, eating his bread and meat. The man glances in his direction, and nods.

Arthur sleeps on, back-to-back with Brynn. Kai feels a surge of jealousy, then silently berates himself. He got them into this mess; he can’t blame Arthur if the sleeping arrangements don’t live up to his expectations.

Bony is already awake, and standing by the bars, looking out at the small section of the arena they can see. He turns to Kai. “I wonder who I’ll get tomorrow.”

“Or who’ll get you,” a surly-looking fellow, with bad teeth, suggests.

“Oh, don’t be like that! I gotta get ’ome. My poor old mum’ll be worried sick about me. And who’s gonna look after ’er, eh?”

“Don’t you think we’ve all got people waiting for us?” Surly takes one menacing step, and stands nose-to-nose with Bony. “Wondering where we are?” 

Arthur leaps to his feet, and pushes them apart. “Which is precisely why we should refuse to fight one another.” 

Surly turns away, and spits on the floor. “You do love the sound of your own voice, don’t you? Why don’t you save yer breath to cool yer porridge? Just shut yer yap.”

Arthur glares at his back. “Each day we fight and kill one another, we are depriving some mother of her son, some child of a father, and some man of his friend or brother. Isn’t that something we should talk about?”

“Talking about it don’t make it go away.” Surly studies his fingernails.

“Organising ourselves might. We should stand together. And to do that, we have to talk.”

“And you think they’d let us go, do you? If we all ‘stood together’?” Surly points at Arthur’s shackles. “In our charming footwear?”

“I think they might.” But Arthur’s growing doubt shows on his face. “We can’t know if we don’t try.”

“And I think, if we did, Ezra might have a few fatter lions by the end of the day.” 

Arthur’s face falls. “Surely …?”

“What did you think they was doing here then? Think Ezra just keeps ’em to sit by his fire, of a night?”

Bony laughs.

Kai looks across at Arthur, and frowns. If they want to survive in this place, they won’t always be able to do the right thing. The small kindnesses: yes, those, they can do. But they will have to be responsible for the deaths of men with whom they have no quarrel, too. Kai hopes Arthur will not destroy him, by giving up his life for an ideal. 

Arthur just looks at him, and shakes his head slightly. “I have to keep trying. Even if it seems we have no choice.” Pain clouds his eyes.

One of the guards – Gristle – comes to the bars, and distributes bread and apples. Blacksmith gets painfully to his feet to collect his share; this time, he waits his turn with the rest, and then offers his bread to Kai.

Kai shakes his head. “Thank you, but your need is greater. I have enough.” 

They sit and eat their meals.

After that, the day passes slowly. Kai finds some small pebbles round the walls of the cell, and plays a game of jacks with Bony. When they tire of that, he collects some more, and distributes them among the occupants of the cell. They use them to bet on which guard will be the next to go past, or which of them will be the next to fart, or use the latrine. 

Needless to say, Kai has soon lost all his pebbles.

Around mid-afternoon, the guards take them out for exercise in the arena. It’s another warm day, with no breeze to carry away the stink of the latrines, and the odour drifting from the lions’ cage, of musk and rotting meat; but still, it smells better out here than it does in the cells.

The guards keep their distance: alert, and with their swords drawn, while the prisoners shuffle around, or just enjoy the sunshine, and the blue sky above them.

They can see another group of prisoners taking the air on the far side of the arena, but the two parties do not approach each other; rather they regard each other with suspicion, and a little fear. Most of the other group – even the woman – look taller and broader than those in Kai and Arthur’s lot; all except for the weasel-faced fellow on the outskirts of the group.

So – he wasn’t killed in the arena yesterday. Most likely, he didn’t have to fight at all. He must be a stooge for Ezra. 

But for that man’s presence, Kai would have taken a chance, and exchanged a few words with Arthur – not that anything really needs to be said. ‘Watch your back’ and ‘Good luck’, they take for granted. 

Kai sits down on the ground, leaning against the wall, and simply smiles at Arthur; he receives a look of quiet confidence in return.

When they trail back into the cell, Kai finds that the guards have taken all the pebbles away.

~~

**VI**

The next day, tensions once again run high, and no one wants to play a game, even if they could devise one. This afternoon, they’ll all have to fight again. They eat their meals in silence, and Kai can’t afford to exchange a single word with Arthur; it would draw too much attention.

This time, when the guard takes him to his fight cell, Kai finds a sword waiting for him: Arthur’s sword. He should do almost as well with this, as with his own weapon. He picks it up, and twirls it experimentally; yes, his wrist has recovered.

He wonders who will be pitted against him – but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. Kai has barely settled in his cell, when he hears Ezra announce him.

“Please welcome, for the second time, Brett, the Sax – but this time, with no axe!”

Feeling mildly annoyed, Kai mutters, “I’d have an axe, if you hadn’t taken it away.” He steps out into the arena, to a few ragged cheers.

“And in the ring with him, is the Great God Neptune! Nah! Only kidding! It’s a local boy, James, from south of the river. He looks the part though, don’t he?”

Kai thinks he looks anything but. Poor James trails out, his shoulders hunched. Although he wears a mask that covers his whole face, every line of his body tells Kai that the man is terrified. He’s clearly never handled these weapons before, and – though he means to do his best – has little idea of what to do with them. He keeps the trident pointed at Kai, gripping the haft so hard, his knuckles whiten.

Though Kai has seen the net and trident used, he’s not sure how to win against them. Every time he circles, trying to find an opening, James turns with him, and James’ trident has a greater reach than Arthur’s sword.

When neither of them closes with the other, the crowd becomes impatient; boos and catcalls begin to sound, and Kai’s reluctance to move in gives James confidence. He starts jabbing at Kai with the trident; he swings the net about his head, making the little weights at the edges clack together.

Kai considers trying to cut through the net, but if his sword were to become entangled, he’d have lost his only weapon. And if he gets caught in the net himself, he’s done for.

The net swings past his head. Kai reaches up, catches an edge, and jerks, pulling James off his feet. The trident’s prongs stick in the ground; James loses his grip. He makes a grab, but as he gets a hand to it, Kai is on him, snaring him in his own net, and the trident along with him.

Neptune struggles in vain.

Ezra strikes the bell, and hauls himself to his feet. “Well, Citizens! Brett wins again. What is it to be? Does the sea god live or die?”

“Die!” the chant goes up. “Die! Die!”

Kai tells himself it should be easier to kill a man wearing a mask – but it will make no difference. He looks round at the merciless, baying faces, then up at Ezra, hoping for some way out. He cannot sully Arthur’s sword with innocent blood.

“Ezra, I can’t …”

Ezra heaves a disappointed sigh. “I thought you Saxons were supposed to be hard as nails? That’s a Celt you’ve got there at your mercy, ain’t it? I’d have thought you’d be happy to kill him.”

“In battle, perhaps,” Kai says. “Not in cold blood.”

“Oooh! A Saxon with honour, eh? Who’d have thought? Well, Brett me old darling, you’re in luck. I’ve taken a liking to you. So just this once, I’ll sort this little problem out for you, alright? Put yourself to bed, and leave it to Ezra.”

Kai gives him a dubious look, and goes back to his cell, leaving the still-struggling Neptune in the middle of the arena.

Ezra mutters, “You want a job done properly …” 

As the bars clang down behind him, Kai hears another grating sound. One of the larger cells is opening, and from the dark space within, Kai sees a tawny, low-slung creature slink into view; then another. And another.

Kai’s heart sinks.

The lions – Kai has never seen one before, but that’s what they must be – position themselves, somewhat apart, surrounding the strange, struggling shape. They settle into a kind of crouch, watching and waiting. 

The red tunic-clad men move among the crowd again, presumably taking bets on how long it will take for the lions to move in, or how long Neptune will survive, after they do. 

A fourth lion, this one with a dark mane, bounds out into the ring, and the others, taking courage from the increase in their numbers, start to approach mystifying object – Kai’s erstwhile opponent. One of them starts batting at it with a huge paw, as if trying to determine what it is, and whether it is dangerous. Another joins in the game. 

James looses a high, terrified cry; the lions back off a little, and – by some miracle – James manages to free himself. But he can’t free his trident from the net.

So he runs.

The lions catch him.

Kai turns away.

~~

The guards somehow manage to lure the lions back into their cages, and the sweepers take away what’s left, scrape up the blood-stained sand, and scatter fresh. Then Ezra announces the next fight.

Kai can make no sense of the first name he calls out, but a chorus of boos rises from the crowd, so obviously they know this man, and he’s not popular. 

But when a tall figure emerges, Kai sees that it is not a man at all.

~~

When Arthur hears his own name called – or rather, his assumed name, ‘Morgen’ – he steps out into the arena. He has a short sword in his hand, and a dagger stowed in the belt – part of this strange outfit he’s been made to wear. 

He didn’t make a fuss. Failure to comply will not improve his chances of survival, so – uncomfortable under Maximus’ interested gaze – he stripped, and donned some very old and stiff leather armour. It offers some protection to his shoulders, groin and calves, but leaves his thighs and belly exposed.

He looks around, and sees his opponent, dressed and armed in a similar fashion to himself, but … it’s a woman: tall and blonde, with the sides of her head shaven. 

Arthur comes to the podium, and looks up at Ezra. “I cannot fight a woman. It’s –”

“Arthur!” Kai bellows.

The crowd, too, yells a warning. Arthur turns to see the woman charging at him. He sways to the side; her sword grazes his right flank. 

Chivalry forgotten, his sword flashes against hers. She wounds him again, a slice across his stomach, leaking blood. 

Arthur hates seeing his own blood – counts it as a personal affront when anyone gets close enough to wound him. Fury carries him forward, giving him the strength to knock the sword from her hand as if she were a child, and soon, he has her backed against the arena wall, his sword point at her throat. 

Her face assumes an expression of hopelessness. Her dagger now outreached by Arthur’s sword, she lowers it, and Arthur, in response, lets his sword drop.

She lunges at him; Arthur leaps back, and slashes a gaping wound in her thigh. 

Badly wounded, but no longer trapped against the wall, she staggers to the side, and limps around him, trying to retrieve her sword. 

As she reaches for it, Arthur slices into her right forearm with his blade. Once more, he points it at her throat, and looks into her hate-filled gaze. “Surrender! I’ve no wish to kill you.”

She screams a few words in a tongue Arthur doesn’t understand, grips the hilt of his sword with both hands, and pulls – impaling her own throat. 

Blood sprays into Arthur’s eyes and mouth, even his hair.

Arthur steps back. He lets go of the sword, and his opponent falls on her face at his feet. He stands there, unable to move.

Then the crowd begins to chant, “Mor-gen! Mor-gen! Mor-gen!”

Arthur wipes some of the blood from his face. He sees Kai gripping the bars, looking intently at him.

He sets his jaw, and goes back to his cell.

~~

He stands under the bucket, as a woman with short fair hair pours water over him, and he washes as best he can, but when her pitcher is empty, he can still taste the blood, and smell it in his hair. 

“Is there more water?”

The woman shakes her head, and looks afraid.

Then the red-faced guard gives him a pot with some of the black tar to spread on his injuries. It smells oddly sweet. There may be honey in it.

As he shuffles along the passage, he meets Ezra coming the other way.

Ezra stops and stares. “You don’t clean up too well, do you?”

“There was not enough water to wash that woman’s blood away,” Arthur says, his voice expressionless. He starts to shuffle past.

Ezra puts a hand on Arthur’s chest, and frowns. “Were you givin’ me lip, again?” 

Arthur lowers his gaze. “I was not.”

“‘I was not’, what?”

“I was not, Ezra.”

“Good thing, too.” Ezra nods, then addresses the guard. “Who was on the pitcher for this one?”

“Leonora.”

“Tell her to report to me, before sundown.”

“It was my fault,” Arthur says quietly.

“Oh, don’t give me that. Girl ain’t got a grain of sense.”

“She was afraid.” 

“Well, she don’t need to be. I’ll just tell ’er to use as much water as it takes. Is that alright with you, Guv’nor?” 

“Yes, Ezra.” 

Then Ezra pats Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur can’t even bring himself to care. 

~~

When Kai arrives back at the living quarters, he sees that Brynn has come through his fight. So has Surly. So, by some miracle, has the Blacksmith. 

A quiet man, whose name he never learned, is missing; neither is Bony anywhere to be seen. 

Kai gets a sinking feeling. He lowers himself onto a pallet. Thanks to his day’s work, there will be one for each of them, tonight.

As Arthur comes in, they exchange a look. Kai glances at the wound on Arthur’s belly. Arthur shakes his head. 

This is foolishness. There are now just five of them in the cell. Will it not seem more suspicious if they do not talk to each other, than if they exchange the occasional pleasantry?

“How’s that wound, Morgen?” 

Arthur looks at Kai as if he has gone mad. “May I remind you, that you are my bondsman. It’s not your place to enquire after my well-being.”

“Come on, Morgen. Would it not be better to live and die as men, than as master and servant? We are all bondsmen here, after all, are we not?”

Arthur blinks, as if he had truly forgotten himself for a moment. “My apologies, Brett.” He sighs. “I have not had a good day.”

“So I observed.” 

“You won, didn’t you?” Surly puts in. “You got nothing to complain about.”

“I won, but at what cost to my soul?” 

Surly spits on the ground.

“To answer your question, Brett. The wound stings, but it’s shallow. I think this black stuff they gave me will stop it festering.”

Kai nods. “I am glad to hear it.”

There seems nothing more to say – nothing more they can risk saying – so they fall silent.

When their meat and bread is delivered, Arthur looks at his without enthusiasm. Kai knows the feeling, but they can’t blame themselves. Ezra is responsible; not them.

Not them.

Kai lies down on his pallet alone. The night James shared it with him, the boy twitched, and muttered in his sleep. Now, thanks to Kai, he sleeps forever, disturbing no one.

~~

**VII**

The next day, when the guards take them out for exercise, it seems to Arthur that – despite the constant activity around the walls – the arena is in a state of disrepair, with areas where the capstones, and a considerable amount of the wall below, are just not there.

No prisoner in shackles could climb the tiers to reach the open sides, and Arthur can’t see any gaps nearer the ground that might provide an escape route. Still, it would be worth keeping a look out.

He shuffles around, then squats and rises a few times, trying to stretch his legs; he circles his arms, loosens his shoulders, and – as if in the natural course of events – shuffles to within earshot of some guards, talking noisily amongst themselves, with much gesticulation. 

“– bloody prisoners get better fed than we do,” the red-faced guard complains. “It ain’t fair. He ’ad a go at me for falling asleep on duty, but he don’t pay us enough to stay awake, the pittance ’e pays us for riskin’ our lives with these bastards.”

“Good job we get a bit on the side then, innit?” The wiry fellow rubs his hands together. “I quite like getting paid to fall asleep.”

“Look out, ’ere comes Max.”

Maximus strides past Arthur towards the group.

“You’re meant to be guarding, not gas-bagging.” He clips the red-faced one around the ear. “Get to your posts, and stand to attention.”

The group breaks up – the guards spreading themselves around the arena, with resentful looks back at Maximus.

Max turns his attention to Arthur. “What are you lookin’ at, eh?”

From the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Kai get to his feet. He gives a slight shake of his head, and Kai resumes his seat.

Arthur drops his gaze. “Nothing.”

“Look at me when you’re talking to me.”

Arthur looks up. “I wasn’t looking at anything, Maximus.”

Max licks his lower lip, and grins.

And then he ruffles Arthur’s hair.

~~

Halfway through the afternoon, Arthur has still not had his fight. Kai paces nervously, seeing refreshments being taken around. 

Then Arthur comes out, armed with a club – but it has sheepskin bound around the end. That isn’t fair. How can Arthur fight with a bated weapon?

A small gate opens, and three dwarves – the ones who entertained the crowd on the first day – run into the ring. Today, they are clad in leather armour, with metal plating, and each of them carries a small dagger.

First, a female opponent: now this? Is Ezra trying to break Arthur’s spirit, by pitting him against such opposition? 

Each dwarf takes a turn distracting Arthur, while the other two rush in, and attack him from behind, or from the side. He must keep turning – swinging his club, and knocking away first one, and then another, but always they come back, unharmed by his sheepskin-clad club, and each time they inflict small cuts and slashes on Arthur’s legs and flanks.

It’s brutal: like watching a bear that’s had its teeth pulled, baited by dogs. The crowd laughs at Arthur’s frustration. Anger robs Kai of breath.

Then a more powerful swing of Arthur’s club sends one of the dwarves flying through the air. He lands, hard, and screaming, his back arched in agony. 

Ezra rings the bell; the other two dwarves run to their companion, pick him up between them, and carry him, still screaming, back through the door they entered by.

The crowd howls and jeers. They liked the dwarves.

“Another victory for Morgen!” Ezra proclaims. “And over such formidable opposition!”

Arthur looks around the arena at the crowd, and then at Ezra. He drops his club, and trails back to his cell.

Kai’s heart aches for him. What opponent will he be given next, to humiliate him? A one-armed man? A child?

Ezra begins another announcement. That man loves the sound of his own voice.

“And now – something we don’t see very often! An all-Saxon contest! But only one of them has an axe. Which will it be? And who will win? Ulm or Brett? Place your bet!”

As the red tunics do the rounds, Kai looks again at the weapon Ezra’s given him: an elegantly-shaped blade, that widens as it leaves the hilt, then tapers from two thirds of the way along, towards the tip.

So far he has been fortunate – or favoured. This sword would be beautiful, if they had taken proper care of it. But rust stains the blade and hilt – or at least … it might be rust. Kai doesn’t care to check. 

The cell front rises, and Kai goes out into the arena, sword at the ready.

From the other side comes Ulm: a tall blond lout, armed with Kai’s own axe. He’s one of Cerdig’s lieutenants – or he was. Kai has memories associated with this man, and none of them are pleasant.

Ulm stares at him – looking his death in the face. He swallows, and says softly: “Your name isn’t Brett.” 

“And that isn’t your axe.”

As Ulm’s glance tracks to the weapon in his hand, Kai slashes at him; Ulm only just catches Kai’s blade on the haft. He falls back, holding the axe straight out in front of him. But it’s larger and heavier than he’s used to; already in difficulty, Ulm will soon tire, whereas the sword in Kai’s hand feels like it weighs nothing. 

Kai makes pass after slashing pass, forcing him to keep falling back, the axe still raised, because Kai is too quick for him. Ulm must know, if he draws back his arm to strike a blow, he will be dead. 

“Come on! Will you not fight me?” Kai feels his face stretch in a feral grin. “You were bold enough in Cerdig’s camp, when my hands were tied.”

Ulm wears a look of desperation on his face. His arms begin to shake, fatigue taking its toll. He stumbles backwards; flings his axe-arm wide to keep his balance.

Kai lunges, slashing at his belly.

Ulm looks down; his eyes widen, then he crumples to his knees, leaning on Kai’s axe. His guts start spilling out onto the sand.

“You’re getting my axe dirty.” Kai reaches down, and snatches it, and Ulm falls on his face.

Kai turns in a circle, facing the cheering crowds.

Perhaps he should not take pleasure in this victory; Arthur would not. But still … he nods, acknowledging the applause, and when he looks up at the podium, he sees Ezra grinning, like a dog with a bone.

~~

As Kai stands under the rain-bucket, he feels something stirring … down there. He hasn’t felt like this in days, and if he had, he’d have found few chances for relief. 

But now … 

Though Aylia has emptied her pitcher, she’s still there, looking down on him. He frowns at her, and jerks his head; Aylia disappears. Kai turns his back on Gristle – standing outside the bars, showing no interest in him whatsoever. Perhaps Aylia is still watching, but Kai doesn’t care. Cupping his balls, he gives himself a few brisk pulls, and as the bucket empties its last drops, he spills the fear and frustrations of the last few days onto the tiles. 

He looks up, and asks the air, “Is there more water?” 

Almost at once, Aylia – her face pink – appears, and starts filling the bucket once again. 

Kai grins at her, and as he soaps himself in the rain shower, he finds himself humming a tune.

~~

Arthur marvels that, even wearing shackles, Kai can somehow manage to swagger. He lets the bitterness he feels trickle into his voice. “You seem to have enjoyed your fight, then, Brett.” 

“I killed an old enemy today. I’m sorry you were not so fortunate with your opponents.”

“Opponents!” Arthur spits out the word.

“Not ‘fortunate’?” the sour-faced man says. “He’s here isn’t he? He won! And he ain’t badly injured. How is that ‘not fortunate’?”

“I want to win – of course I do. But to be forced to …” Arthur shakes his head and does not continue. He takes himself off, to sit far away from the others.

Brynn and the blacksmith both came through again today, but Brynn, his face twisted in pain, is gripping his left shoulder,

Kai goes to Brynn, and observes the way his arm is hanging. “Lie down on your back.”

“Why?”

“Just do as I say.”

Brynn looks doubtful, but shuffles towards his pallet.

“On the stone. It will go better on a hard surface.”

Still suspicious, Brynn lowers himself awkwardly to the floor, and lies down.

Kai takes Brynn’s left wrist and raises his forearm, then places it flat on Brynn’s stomach. “Make a fist. And don’t move your upper arm.”

Brynn does as he’s told.

Kai takes Brynn’s wrist and begins to slowly rotate the arm and shoulder outward. 

Brynn starts to sweat, and make small sounds of pain.

“Sssh. It will soon be done.”

As Brynn’s lower arm is just starting to swing outwards, past his torso, Kai begins to coax the shoulder back into its joint. Screwing his eyes tight shut, Brynn gives a sharp cry. Then one last little push, and he gasps with relief.

“Better?” 

“Yes, yes.” Panting, Brynn slaps Kai’s arm with his right hand. “Thank you.”

Kai places Brynn’s forearm back on his stomach. “Now rest it.” 

Brynn lies still for a few moments, then gets up, and shuffles to his pallet.

“Thank you, Brett.” 

It is the first time Brynn has called anyone in this cell by their name. 

“I don’t know why you helped me, but thank you.”

“You have done me no harm – given good counsel. Why wouldn’t I help you?” 

Brynn glances at Arthur, then at Kai. “Because one of us might have to kill the other. Then, any kindness we have done each other will make it harder. Make it hurt us more.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Brett did right. We must not let what they do to us, steal our humanity.” He looks at Kai, and gives a grudging nod. 

~~

Their real life suspended, the days begin to merge. They fight; they survive; they somehow learn to tolerate the lack of privacy, and the suffocating boredom. The stink – they hardly notice any more.

While out in the arena for exercise, Kai has picked up another pebble; now he spends his time challenging his cell-mates to guess in which of his closed fists he has it hidden, and – since Kai fixed Brynn’s shoulder – Brynn sits near him when he can, and plays Kai’s guessing games.

But Arthur refuses to join in. Jealousy and resentment make him shrink into himself.

Kai has done no wrong. He helped the man – that’s all – and now they are both making the best of a bad situation. But on the rare occasions when Arthur speaks, it sounds as if he has eaten poison, that he can’t help spitting out with every word. 

He hates himself, and even when he has a chance to speak to Kai alone, Arthur, instead, avoids him.

~~

Kai doesn’t understand Arthur’s coldness; it’s tearing him apart. He wants to ask what he’s done wrong, but he can’t take the risk of speaking openly, or putting himself in Arthur’s way, or taking him aside. 

To keep himself from going mad, he tells himself, over and over, that once they get out of here – when they have won their fights – all will be well. If they win all their fights ... 

At night, he hugs himself, his heart about to crack. 

~~

**VIII**

Fight day comes round again. When the guards appear, ready to take them to their arena-side cells, Arthur walks away from the love of his life with just the briefest nod.

He wonders what is wrong with him. 

All Kai has done is adapt to his situation – as he’s had to, all his life. It’s something Arthur finds almost impossible to do, and he resents that Kai has found a way, when he cannot.

But if Kai were to die this day, in the arena … 

Arthur can’t bear to think of having parted on such terms. But it will be his own fault, if Kai leaves this world, thinking he has lost Arthur’s love.

~~

Kai tries to push his worries about Arthur from his mind. He can’t let himself be distracted, and he must not burden Arthur with such things. They each have seven fights ahead of them: fights they must win them, if they are ever to speak freely again. Trying to resolve the matter in sight of others will do neither of them any good at all.

At least the weather’s a little cooler. A scattering of white clouds scuds across the blue sky, and a fresh breeze blows across the arena. Kai feels his spirits lift.

All he needs worry about are his weapons, and his opponent.

The former do not give him confidence: a shield, with a set of six darts stowed in a pocket at the back.

At least his adversary – an angry, one-eyed giant, whose name Ezra gave as Manus –with a spiked club for a weapon, is larger than the target board back home. But Kai has to keep on the move, because this huge beast has a turn of speed, and one blow from that club will finish him. The shield won’t save him. 

Getting on Manus’ blind side, Kai aims, and throws his first dart at the big man’s leg. But the dart is heavier than the ones he’s used to; it doesn’t even reach its mark, but lands harmlessly on the ground.

Manus turns and barrels towards him.

Kai manages to dodge, but throws the second dart too hard; it bounces off Manus’ metal-studded shoulder-guards.

He still has four darts left; four chances. If he could manage to trip Manus … but he fears getting too close to that wicked club. 

The giant charges once again.

Kai leaps aside, and throws the third dart, hitting Manus on the arse, and this time, it sticks in. 

Manus turns, snarling and snatching at himself, as if a wasp has stung him. He pulls the dart out, and flings it away. Then he advances on Kai once more, swinging the club with its huge reach; closing in on him; herding him remorselessly towards the narrow end of the arena.

Kai should have tried to get behind this huge man, but by the time he realises what’s happening, it’s too late. Panic takes hold; he throws his fourth dart carelessly, and the club bats it aside.

He swallows. He has two left. Only two. And in the time it takes to aim, that club will be in range, so he must hit something vital – an arm or leg won’t do. 

Manus draws back his arm, and takes a mighty swing, and Kai throws, aiming high.

The dart embeds itself in Manus’ neck, and Manus gasps, and pulls it out. A fountain of bright blood spurts; Manus clamps a huge hand to his neck, letting his club drop to his side, leaving himself wide open.

Kai puts the last dart into Manus’ one good eye.

The giant screams. He drops his club, frantically scratching at his neck, and at his eye, and Kai stands, panting, looking at the awful thing he’s done; at the blood soaking into the sand; at the dart sticking out of the poor man’s eye. 

He didn’t have to do that. Manus will soon die from loss of blood. All he had to do was keep out of the way. But he was afraid. Manus was still on his feet; still had the club in his right hand.

And now Kai wants to finish him – end his agony; end the cries and sobs and whimpers – but he dare not. If he pre-empts the crowd’s decision, he’ll be flogged this time, for sure. He can’t afford it.

Ezra rings the bell.

Kai looks up at him, pleading. 

“Oh, go on, finish ’im off if you want to.” Ezra rolls his eyes. “He’s no use to anyone now, is he?”

Kai picks up the club, and swings it, hard, at Manus’ head, and Manus falls, face-first on the sand – the back of his head split open.

Ezra nods. “Well done, Brett. Now be off with you.”

‘Well done’? Was it ‘well done’?

Kai feels the world spinning beneath him. 

That poor half-blind giant, captured off the street, was the same as them; an innocent. 

If Arthur was watching ...

Kai finds his way back to his cell, and sits with his head in his hands until a guard takes him to the rain-shower room.

Nothing will wash him clean.

~~

Today, the guard takes Arthur by a different route, along a closed-in corridor. As he leaves the foul stench of the living quarters behind, a familiar – and much more pleasant – smell drifts towards him. Arthur’s pulse and pace quicken. Horses! There are horses here … 

How he has missed this smell! The feel of the horse moving under him, and its enigmatic companionship.

What has become of their own animals? The possible answers to that question are something Arthur can’t afford to dwell upon.

The guard – the wiry fellow with the grizzled beard – shows him into a high-roofed cell, where a bay mare stands on a stone floor, littered with a few damp scraps of straw. No battle-horse, her mane falls in lank, bedraggled cords; her head hangs down, almost to her knees. Arthur can tell that she’s been wearing her saddle and bridle for days, without relief. 

“Look at this poor sad beast! Can you not keep your horses better than this?”

The guard raises both hands. “Don’t look at me, Mate. I’m a townie. I’m petrified of the things. Don’t have nuffink to do wiv ’em.” 

Arthur sighs, and pets the horse’s head. “Key?”

The guard snorts, and hands him the key to the shackles.

“Can we give this animal something to eat, before it has to carry me?” 

“What do they eat?”

Arthur sighs again. What will they have in easy reach? “How about an apple?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Get your gear on.” The guard bustles off, shaking his head.

Arthur scratches behind the horse’s ears. “I will try to keep you safe, my poor friend, but I can make no promises.”

She butts him gently. Arthur feels tears welling up; if only he had spoken to Kai as kindly as he now speaks to this dumb beast. He rests his forehead on her neck.

When he has collected himself, he looks around. On the stone bench that runs the length of the wall, some greaves lie ready for him. So – his opponent will be on foot, if this is the protection he will need. He puts them on, and fastens the leather straps behind his knees and calves. Then he picks up the curved blade and small round shield that complete the paraphernalia. He tests the weight and balance of the weapon. 

The guard returns, and passes an apple through the bars, keeping his hand well away from the horse’s teeth. 

“You ain’t scared of ’im, Mister?” 

“It’s a ‘her’.” Arthur strokes the horse’s neck. “And no – I’m not afraid. I’ve been around horses all my life. Treated well, your horse can be your best friend, in battle.”

He takes the apple, breaks it in half, and passes one piece back to the guard. “Here. You give it to her. Hold your hand flat, so that her teeth don’t catch you by accident.” 

The guard looks dubious, but puts his hand through the bars, the half-apple balancing on his flat palm.

Arthur could grab the guard’s hand, twist his arm, and perhaps force him to unlock the cell … But how far would he get, on his own, in this labyrinth, with so many of Ezra’s men around? And what of Kai?

Kai! Arthur realises with a jolt that he doesn’t yet know whether Kai has had his fight; whether he even still lives. Surely he would feel it in his guts and in his heart – if Kai were …

As the horse gently takes the apple from the guard’s hand, the man’s mouth falls open. “He took it! I mean ‘she’! She took it from me, all gentle, like!”

Arthur is glad he did not take advantage of the guard’s lack of vigilance.

“Can I give ’er the other bit?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I need to make friends with her too, if she’s to carry me into battle. Bring her another one later – or better still, some oats, or hay. If she has too many apples, she might get sick.”

The guard nods. “Thanks, Mister.” He glances nervously behind him. “I’d better get off now. Best of luck!” 

“Thank you.”

Arthur holds the piece of apple for the horse, then begins to stroke and gentle her, searching for injuries, then worrying at the roots of her mane, the way his horse at home enjoys.

The horse is not well-nourished, but not starving, and though she could do with some new shoes, still she should carry him. He tightens her girths, and mounts, using the bench as a mounting block. 

She takes a step towards the bars, as if keen to get out, and on with it.

But he has left his weapon on the bench. He has to dismount to collect it, and as he does, he hears his name announced. The bars begin to rise. He grabs the sword and throws himself into the saddle, just as the horse leaps forwards.

And they are out amid the cheering crowds.

The horse prances sideways, lifting her front feet, and snorting with pleasure. She seems buoyed by the wind ruffling her mane, and the attention.

Arthur breathes deeply, grateful for the fresher air, and the reassuring feel of the horse beneath him. He pats her neck, trying to calm her, and she starts to settle. He is not alone out here today.

“So! Here we have Morgen, on his fourth fight! Let’s see how he does on horseback shall we?”

The crowd roars again.

“And who does he have to fight today, but Saifu, the Black!”

‘The Black’? How evil must a man be, to earn such a name? Arthur prepares himself for the fight of his life. 

But when the grating at the far side of the arena rises, a man with skin darker than Arthur has ever seen comes out into the ring. Saifu carries a light spear, and wears a sheathed sword at his belt. His muscles gleam as if they have been oiled; he seems to have been carved of living wood. 

A horse would usually give Arthur the advantage, but he can see – by Saifu’s bearing, and the way he holds his weapon – that he’s no unschooled villager, to be cut down at the first pass, with a single blow, but a worthy opponent: a man trained to fight. And if Saifu were to use that spear to wound Arthur’s horse, she could come crashing down on him. So Arthur dismounts, and slaps the horse’s rump, sending her away.

Saifu stares in disbelief, then throws his spear. 

Arthur parries with his shield, runs to fetch the spear, and launches it back. Saifu dodges, and collects it in his turn.

Well, they could carry on like this all day, and fortune might favour Saifu, but with an edged weapon in his hand, Arthur would back himself against any man. The next time the spear bounces off his shield, he picks it up, and rams the point into the ground. Then he draws the curved sword, and advances on Saifu, who draws his own sword, a gladius. 

Their blades clash. Saifu’s speed and strength take Arthur by surprise. Slowed down by the weight of the greaves, he finds himself on the defensive, driven back by an onslaught of blows he can only just parry in time, with this unfamiliar weapon. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur sees one of the crowd hurl something at his horse. She takes fright, and gallops to the end of the arena nearest Saifu, where she stands, snorting, and tossing her head.

Saifu glances nervously towards the horse, and starts edging round, trying to put Arthur between himself and her, and Arthur lets him have his way. Another furious exchange of blows leaves a gash on Arthur’s left arm, and a long but shallow cut across Saifu’s left thigh; both wounds are seeping blood.

Still being driven back, Arthur hears the horse snorting, and pawing the ground behind him. Just in time, he throws himself to one side; the horse thunders past, and knocks Saifu to the ground. The sword flies out of Saifu’s hand. 

Arthur scrambles to his feet, and puts his own sword to his opponent’s throat.

Ezra rings the bell, and the crowd starts jeering, and pelting them both with rotten vegetables. As Arthur fends off the missiles, he and his defeated opponent exchange a look of shared vexation.

“Oi! Stop that!” Ezra bellows. “I ain’t makin’ a stew!”

At last, order is restored. 

“Well, here’s a how-d’you do,” Ezra says. “Anyone who bet on the horse would ’ave cleaned up, wouldn’t they?” He shakes his head. “What shall we do with you, Morgen? You rip up the rule book. I suppose we have to call that a win for you. But Saifu’s a great fighter, and I won’t see him slaughtered because of an unruly horse.”

This time, the look Arthur exchanges with Saifu is one of relief. Saifu gets to his feet, brushes himself down, and shakes Arthur by the hand.

“Hey! None of that nonsense! Get back to your cells, both of you.”

Arthur follows Saifu to the edge of the ring, where they set down their swords. Then he catches his horse, and as he leads her back to the cell, he sees Ezra regarding him thoughtfully. 

“Morgen – I’ll see you later.”

That can’t be good …

~~

**IX**

At the start of every fight after his own, Arthur waits with bated breath, but Ezra doesn’t announce ‘Brett’, either with an axe, or without. Kai must have been fighting for his life, while he, Arthur, was acquainting himself with the horse.

He removes her saddle and bridle, then he waits some more: impatient to be taken to the bucket room, to wash, and tend his wound; anxious to learn how Kai’s fight went, and to see him safe, and in one piece. But no one comes.

The arena has been cleared before anyone appears at the bars, and then Ezra himself heaves into view, with the guard who brought the apple for the horse, trailing in his wake. 

Ezra hooks his thumbs into his belt, and rocks on his heels. “Well then, Morgen. We got off to a bit of a bad start, you and me, di’n’t we?”

Arthur wants to say, ‘You took me prisoner’, but he just inclines his head.

Ezra glances at the guard. “Abel here tells me you know something about horses.”

“I know all about them.”

Ezra snorts. “No false modesty with you, is there? Good. Well, here’s the thing. My horse-master got taken sick last month, and since then, I’ve had no one here – useless bunch that they are – as knows how to look after these things. So, how’s about you spend a bit of time teaching Abel how to keep ’em in good nick? What to feed ’em, how to get ’em to do what we want, that kind of thing?”

“Are you offering me employment?” 

Ezra rolls his eyes. “I’m offering you a way back into my good graces, Morgen.”

“Well, your animals certainly should be better cared for.” 

“So, what do you say?” Ezra buffs his fingernails on his tunic, examines them, then looks up at Arthur. “I mean, it’ll give you something to do on your rest day, other than sitting in your cell, playing guessing games with your Saxon ‘bondsman’.”

Arthur flinches; he sees at once that Ezra took note of it, and that there is nothing he can say that won’t look even more suspicious. Buying time to school his features, he turns his attention to the horse, and as he runs a hand across her back, he realises that Ezra’s just told him Kai came through today alive. He closes his eyes for a moment, and takes a deep breath. 

“Alright.” He turns back to Ezra. “I’ll do it. For the horses’ sake.”

Ezra nods. “I don’t care why you’re doing it, so long as it gets done. Abel will bring you to the stables tomorrow morning, after breakfast.” He wags a fat finger. “And mind you behave yourself.”

“Of course,” Arthur says dryly.

He waits for Ezra to say, ‘Of course, _what?_ ’ – ready to give the required reply, ‘Of course, _Ezra_.’

But Ezra just rubs his hands together. “Right then – time for your clean-up.” Then he goes about his business.

~~

As he washes under the rain-bucket, Arthur considers what this means: that he and Kai won’t have to spend hours pretending – for the benefit of their guards and cell-mates – that they mean nothing to each other; that he will see more of this place, and have access to horses; that he might win the trust of some of the guards, and perhaps find out whether there is any chance of escape. 

If not – six fights to go.

~~ 

Kai gets to his feet, then makes himself sit down again. He wants to pace, but he’s still trying to pretend he doesn’t care that Arthur hasn’t yet returned, though Brynn, Blacksmith and Surly are all back in the cell with him, and have been for what seems like an eternity. 

He sighs, frets at his shackles, heaves another sigh, and at last shuffles towards the bars. 

Surly watches his progress through narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong with you, then?”

Kai peers down the passageway. “I can’t wait to get out of here, that’s all.”

“If you keep winning.” 

A suspicion creeps into Kai’s mind. “Whom did you fight today?”

For an instant, Surly looks confused. “Er … big bloke, with a sword.”

“And you … what weapon did they give you?” Kai demands.

“What’s it to you?” 

Kai shrugs. “I’m just interested. I’ve never seen you fight.”

“I had an axe, if you must know. Like your lot.”

“Did you win?”

“It was a hard fight, but yes, I did, as it happens.”

Now Kai knows he’s lying. Surly has the dark hair and complexion of a Celt. A man untrained in axe-work would stand little chance, fighting with an axe against a larger opponent with a sword. This man must be another of Ezra’s spies.

Kai sits down on his pallet, and tries to wait quietly for Arthur to return.

~~

Despite the shackles, Arthur feels a spring in his step as the guard returns him to his quarters, and he can’t suppress the smile that breaks out on his face, to see Kai, safe and well. 

But Kai doesn’t look up. 

Arthur sits down beside him. “Brett, they have horses here. Ezra has asked me to help with them tomorrow.”

“What’s that to me?” Kai studies his fingernails. “I am just your bondsman, nothing more. You promised me a flogging when we get out of here, if you recall.”

Arthur’s heart clenches. His coolness over these last days must have hurt Kai more than he realised. “I’m sorry for that. I was angry.” He puts a hand on Kai’s arm. “But we’re all in the same boat. We should stick together.”

“And what good will that do us?” Kai snarls, wrenching his arm away. “Any one of us in this cell might have to kill any of the others. Brynn’s right.” Kai looks Arthur in the face. “We should trust no one. Forget we ever knew each other’s names.” 

Did Kai’s eyes flick towards the far side of the cell, where the sour-faced man sits watching, like a poisonous toad?

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Arthur goes to his own pallet to lie down.

When the women bring their food, all eat in silence.

Arthur watches the sour-faced man. He has a shifty look, and Arthur cannot remember having seen him fight, or suffer any wounds.

~~

It’s late. Surly snores on his pallet; Brynn and Blacksmith are dead to the world; the guards have given up patrolling for the night. 

But he and Arthur, still awake, lie facing each other across the room. A candle flickers on the sconce outside the cell, and Kai can see the light reflected in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur reaches out, with his left hand open, and lays his right hand over his heart.

Kai feels a lump in his throat. He has to close his eyes for a moment. Then he echoes Arthur’s gesture.

He hears Arthur breathing deeply, as the tension leaves him.

Then Arthur takes his right hand from his heart, and cups himself, and if it weren’t for these damned shackles which would clank, and wake everyone in this cursèd place, Kai would be across the floor, and doing things to Arthur such as no bondsman should be required to do. 

But this frustration brings its own kind of relief. Such love still burns within them that these trials will only make stronger.

~~

**X**

As Abel takes Arthur from the cell to work in the stables, Arthur gives Kai an apologetic glance. 

Kai shakes his head. He’s glad Arthur has something to do, to keep that mercurial mind occupied. And though he wishes he could go with him, this separation will mean that – at least for today – their bond will not be the subject of Surly’s scrutiny.

But the time passes more slowly than ever, without Arthur nearby. 

Perhaps Arthur will get the chance to escape on one of the horses. Kai hopes he does. He hopes Arthur takes it, even if he can’t hope to mount a rescue against this fortress.

Kai knows _he_ will come through; knows, in his heart, that he will let no man – or woman – beat him, before his ten fights are up. But Arthur … Kai would rather be left here alone, than see Arthur have to face even one more opponent of Ezra’s choosing.

At midday, when the guards take them out to the arena for exercise, Kai shuffles away from the group, to be alone. He doesn’t feel like talking to Brynn or Blacksmith. Looking down, he sees fresh hoof-prints in the sand. Was Arthur was riding the horse that made them? He squats, and traces a hoof-print with his finger.

Then a commotion to his left gets Kai’s attention. Some of the guards, led by Maximus, usher in a band of desperate-looking men – four of them; barely men at all – at sword-point.

Ezra swaggers out to meet them. “So … you’ve caught ’em at last.” 

Maximus cuffs one skinny lad around the ear, and knocks him to the floor. “Found ’em on the London road, with a wagon-load of our masonry.”

“Sure, we didn’t steal it,” a dark-haired youth protests. “We bought it off some feller. We –” 

Ezra takes hold of the lad’s right hand, and turns it over. “Doesn’t look like you ‘bought it off some feller’ to me. Looks to _me_ like you spent all night chipping away at my livelihood. I don’t like people what tries to deprive me of my livelihood. I don’t like ’em at all.” 

Another of the youths plucks up courage to ask, “What ’cher goin’ to do wit’ us, Sir?”

“What, indeed …?” Ezra rubs his chin. “Did you catch all of ’em, Max?”

Maximus shuffles his feet. “Nah. Two got away. Slippery little buggers.”

“Alright then. We’d best discourage ’em from coming back then, hadn’t we? Lock this lot up.”

The skinny lad, who was lying still, listening intently, leaps to his feet, and makes a run for it, but dashes full-tilt into Kai.

Kai grips his shoulders. “Look around. You can’t escape. Do as you’re told – you might get out of this alive.” 

The young man’s face contorts; he struggles out of Kai’s grip, and runs – this time, straight onto Maximus’ sword. 

Ezra looks at the stunned faces of the other three young men. “That was good advice from Brett. Incorrect, as it happens, because I’ve got a grudge against you four. Oh, sorry. I mean three.” Assuming a bored expression, he gestures at Maximus. “Get ’em out of my sight.” 

“We lock ’em all up together, or do we split ’em between the cells?”

“All together. And just give ’em half-rations. They ain’t gonna be here long.”

Kai wonders, for a heartbeat, what that means, and then he feels a chill.

He watches as the sweepers drag the corpse out of the arena.

The young man had no chance anyway. He would have died tomorrow, if he had not died today; Ezra has said as much. Ezra means to make an example of anyone stealing blocks of cut stone from his arena. 

Kai couldn’t have done anything to save him.

He could not.

~~

All yesterday’s confidence has drained away. Kai hears, rather than sees, the grating rise. He doesn’t want to go out there. How can he fight like this?

But Maximus told him, with a grin, that he must wear this helmet. Kai knows what happens to anyone who disobeys: at best, a flogging, and the loss of all his victories so far. He must go out and fight.

“And this, My Friends –” Ezra bellows to the crowd “– is what happens to anyone who gets up my nose. _This_ is your last warning!”

It isn’t fair. He’s been co-operative. Why would Ezra do this to him? Why is he being punished?

Kai feels around outside the cell, as he was told, and almost sobs with relief to feel the familiar bindings of the haft of his own axe beneath his fingertips.

But how can he wield his weapon, when he can’t see his opponent?

And it’s not just his vision that’s impaired. Every sound – the rasp of his own breath, even the pounding of the blood in his veins – echoes loud inside the helmet. He can barely keep his head up with the weight, and it’s so hot again today. Sweat trickles down his face, making him itch.

He swallows. If he must die today, he will not go down easy. Holding the axe in front of him, he steps out into the arena.

The sound of the crowd is deafening. They want blood, and they’re going to get it. 

Hoping it won’t be his, Kai tilts his head up in defiance, and finds that, by casting his eyes down, he can see a small strip of sand below the edge of the helmet. If he can keep his head at this uncomfortable angle, he may be able to see the approach of his opponent.

A rasping sound behind him makes him turn, then something smacks into the back of his knees. He goes down on the sand, rolls onto his back, and brings his axe up in front of him. As he scrambles away, someone pounds straight past him. 

The crowd roars with laughter. 

Breathing hard, Kai gets to his feet, and turns in a circle, his axe raised. 

He hears another grating being raised, and then a scuffle; shouts of alarm; more running feet, then someone calls out, “Finn? Was that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Brendan?”

“Yes. I’m over here.”

So … he has more than one opponent – and it seems they, too, are fighting blind.

Another cell creaks open.

Three of them? Even if all are blind, Kai must be swift and deadly, to survive. 

The third man calls: “Who’s there? Wh…where are you?”

“Cormac?” the first voice says. 

“Oh, thank the Lord,” says the third. “They turned me round and round. I can’t see a thing.”

Kai starts to get a sense of where they are: his three opponents, or perhaps his executioners.

“Okay, there’s the three of us,” says Finn.

As silently as he can, Kai starts moving towards the first man, Brendan.

“We mustn’t fight each other, by mistake,” says Kai’s intended target. 

Though the crowd’s expectant rumblings threaten to give him away, Kai manages to get close enough to see Brendan’s feet in front of him, pointing towards the right. 

“Let’s just try and –” 

Kai draws back his arm to take a swing, but someone in the crowd yells, “Look out!” and Kai’s mark leaps backwards, out of view. His axe blade slices through empty air for what seems like eternity, before he feels some slight resistance; hears a yelp. He turns toward the sound, steps forward, swings the axe in a wide arc, and makes full contact. Blood spatters the narrow strip of sand.

“Brendan! Bren?”

Near Kai’s feet, Brendan gives out a moan; Kai brings the axe down, hard. The last sound the man will ever make abruptly stops.

“No! He’s killed Brendan! Get him!”

Kai backs away, and readies his axe once more.

He hears them rush towards him. One of them trips over Brendan’s corpse, and lands heavily; before he can get to his feet, Kai brings his weapon down. A scream that quickly dies, a sickening crunch, then someone yells, and hits him from behind.

Kai stumbles forward, falling to the ground; frenzied blows rain down upon him, and around him too. He curls up to protect himself until at last he manages to roll away.

“Bastard!” Kai’s last opponent yells, as his weapon swipes at empty air. “Bastard!”

Kai struggles to his feet, in pain from many blows.

“Where are you, you Bastard?”

“Here.” Kai sets himself. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Feet pound towards him; Kai steps aside, and sticks a foot out; trips the running man, then brings his axe down, hard, again and again, as this man did to him before, when he was on the ground.

The screaming doesn’t last too long.

The crowd roars.

Kai has completely lost his bearings, but when he hears the bell, he turns to face where he thinks Ezra ought to be. 

He doesn’t dare remove his mask. He has not been told to, and after this punishment – for what fault, he doesn’t know – he can’t afford to take the risk. So he turns blind eyes on his captor.

“Thank you,” Ezra says. 

‘Thank you’? For what?

“And you can take that off now, Brett.”

Kai pulls the heavy helmet off his head, puts up a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, and shakes his hair out, soaked with sweat. The air feels cold upon his brow.

Ezra nods. “Nice and quick, that was.” Then he addresses the crowd. “Anyone else who thinks they can turn a sneaky sestertius by stealing from this site – look well, and think again!”

Kai looks around.

Two men lie, one atop the other, on the sand: one, dead from a single gash to the back of the neck; the one beneath him, from two savage wounds, one to the neck, and one to the shoulders. The third fell on his back. Kai can see some of his ribs through a mess of blood and mangled flesh.

All have helmets like his own on their heads, but though Kai cannot see the faces of the men he’s killed, he knows them for the thieves Max brought in yesterday. Alongside each man lies a weapon: just a heavy wooden rod.

These three men had not one sharp edge between them.

He was their executioner: not they, his.

Kai lets his axe drop to his side.

Then he throws the helmet halfway across the arena.

~~

As Arthur watches Kai trail back to his cell, his heart wells up with rage, and pity.

But he has to keep himself in check, for once again, he finds himself in the high-roofed cell; he must not alarm his horse, who now stands ready beneath him: fed, watered, and gleaming like a weapon herself. Arthur picks up his spear, and hefts it. 

If he aimed high, and well, he might kill Ezra with this weapon; kill the man causing all this grief and pain. But if he tried, and missed, what dreadful fate would befall him? And if he killed Ezra, Maximus would take charge, and things would get much worse. He must just bide his time.

He knows he will be next called out to fight. He doesn’t know how, but he knows, and sure enough, when Ezra’s men have dragged the bodies out, scraped up the bloody sand, thrown fresh sand down, and raked it level, Ezra announces him, and the cell grates open. 

Shield and spear at the ready, he urges his horse on, and out she trots out into the arena.

Another cell opens; Arthur turns his horse, and sees a heavily-built black cob amble out … with Brynn on her back. Like Arthur, Brynn bears a spear and shield, but neither will do him any good if he insists on holding them all wrong.

Arthur’s heart sinks. Damn Ezra! 

This man is Kai’s friend … other friend. And, in his heart, Arthur wants to deprive Kai of any friendship but his own.

Knowing it, Brynn gives Arthur a bitter little smile.

But Arthur doesn’t want to kill this man.

Perhaps he won’t have to. 

Brynn says the crowd likes him.

Arthur turns his spear around, so that the blunt end is pointing forwards.

Brynn just shakes his head, and kicks his horse.

It tosses its head; other than that, it might be made of stone.

The crowd falls about, helpless with laughter.

Brynn kicks again – or thinks he does – but Arthur can see that Brynn’s feet are barely touching the horse. Even if the beast had any intention of obeying him – which Arthur doubts – it doesn’t know that Brynn wants it to move. In any case, Brynn’s spear’s a danger only to low-flying birds.

Arthur sets his horse to a canter. As he comes towards Brynn, the black horse shies, nearly unseating his rider, and – under cover of the crowd’s hilarity – Arthur shouts, “Hold your shield higher.” 

Brynn does as Arthur says, and Arthur turns his horse back; readies himself for another pass.

Once more, Brynn tries to kick his steed into action; it takes a few steps, and then stops again.

With a shout, Arthur urges his horse on. She bounds forward; Arthur’s spear hits Brynn’s shield, and sends him crashing from the saddle, then Arthur comes around, and points the sharp end of his spear at Brynn’s chest. 

The bell sounds.

“Well, folks! Brynn is on the ground,” Ezra announces with a chuckle. “Again! Poor old Brynn. Is it life or death for Brynn this time? What do you say?”

“Life! Life! Life!” the chant goes up from some, while most still roll about in paroxysms of laughter.

A look of despair washes over Brynn’s face. He closes his eyes and lies there, not moving. 

“Take ’im away!” Ezra says. 

Some of the sweepers run past Arthur, take Brynn by the arms, and drag him back to his cell, leaving Arthur to take the black horse’s reins, and lead it back to the stables, with his own bay mare. 

~~

Brynn rounds on Arthur. “You could of finished me, right there and then! Used the sharp end, I’d have been out of here. But, oh, no!” He drags a hand across his nose. “Couldn’t do it, could you? Sanctimonious bastard!”

“Drop it!” Kai pushes between them. “You should be thankful you’re still alive, unlike those poor thieves I had to kill today.”

“Oh, boo hoo!” Surly pipes up. “So you ’ad to kill three unarmed men. They ’ad it coming. You’ve had it easy so far, both of you. You wait till –”

Kai’s just about to take a swing at him, but Arthur grabs him round the chest, pinning his arms.

Kai struggles. “Let me go!”

“Do you want to earn yourself a flogging?” Arthur hisses in his ear. “To waste all you’ve done so far – all those lives you’ve had to take – and start again?”

Kai sags.

“You said, ‘wait till’.” Arthur pins Surly with a look. “‘Wait till’ what?”

Surly grins and stares at the two of them. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Kai tenses again, but Arthur’s grip tightens. Feeling Arthur’s prick, hard against his buttocks, he stiffens in response; his knees go weak. Having no subtle mastery over his features – any of them – he turns on Arthur.

“Let go of me Morgen. What? You fear your bondsman will not be able to serve you, if he’s dead?”

“As soon as either of us leaves this place, you and your family are free, I swear it.” Arthur stares into his eyes. “Is that reason enough to preserve your life?”

Kai grunts and pulls away. “It is enough.” He points at Surly. “Enough to preserve his life, as well.” 

“So, how many fights is that now, anyway?” 

Arthur knows perfectly well how many times they’ve fought, but Kai allows Arthur to distract him. “Five.” 

Arthur slaps him on the arm. “There you are! Halfway there.”

And suddenly, things don’t seem quite so bad.

~~

**XI**

The next day, Abel takes Arthur back to the stables, to continue with his training. The man is a quick learner, and doesn’t seem to mind taking instruction from a prisoner. He very soon gains confidence around the beasts, and they reward him with their trust.

In his turn, Abel lets Arthur go unshackled about the stables. But the exit is heavily gated and guarded; there seems no chance of escape.

Still, this is an escape of sorts: escape from the boredom, and the clank of metal that usually follows every step he takes; escape from the foul smells; escape from the tension, and Kai’s silly games, which are really starting to get under Arthur’s skin.

Not that he doesn’t long to take Kai’s pebbles from him on a bet, or toss and catch them with the rest. He does. But if he joins in, he might – in an unguarded moment – use Kai’s name, or by some word or gesture, give away their secret.

So he sits and listens, his mouth a tight and sullen line, as Kai passes the time with Brynn and Blacksmith. His jealousy and resentment are hurting Kai; they make Arthur despise himself. At least the horses do not judge him. 

Ezra only has three horses in these stables. There’s the thin bay mare Arthur rode: nervous, but kind, and willing, at least when Arthur is on her back. Abel’s lessons up till now have been with her. Then there’s a big, confident grey mare, and the heavily-built black horse Brynn rode yesterday. That one needs careful handling, and – more out of fun than malice – would take advantage if he got the chance. He has already chewed a hole in Arthur’s tunic. 

All are hungry, and in dire need of being newly shod.

Abel takes Arthur to the quartermaster, to tell him what feed to order, then they make good use of the old horse-master’s grooming kit, and the oil he kept for the harness, and the morning passes quickly.

At lunchtime, Arthur sits with Abel and the red-faced guard, Barnabas.

As he eats an apple, Arthur asks them, “So, how did you two come to work for Ezra?” 

Abel shrugs. “Buggered if I know. I was working on one of those trading ships wot comes up the Isis, when I got took with a fever. They threw me off the boat. Not literal-like, you understand – just when they came to dock. So the landlady of this inn I used to frequent let me lay up there till I got better, but by that time, I was up to me eyes in debt to ’er. Just took the first job as came along, so I could pay ’er back. Well, matter of fact, she said I should try here. How about you, Barney?”

“Like you … ran up a debt. Mine was gambling. Used to run me own ale-house, I did, till I lost it all. I reckon Ezra’s got ears everywhere, looking out for those as got no choice but to work for ’im.”

Trying to sound casual, Arthur asks, “What about Maximus?” 

“Oh, ’is lordship!” Abel lowers his voice. “Word is, he got kicked out of the legions, and just ended up here. Some … er … ’ow can I put this? Indiscretion, with the commanding officer’s … son.”

“I heard it was more’n an indiscretion,” Barnabas says. “Ezra didn’t ought to give someone like that a second chance. It ain’t right.”

“What ain’t right?” Maximus appears from round the corner. 

“Erm … prisoners!” Barney spits out bits of half-chewed bread in his haste to speak. “Prisoners being allowed to fraternise with us, Maximus.” 

Abel shoots Barnabas a reproachful look.

“What’s he doing here, anyway?” Maximus regards Arthur with suspicion. 

“He’s teaching me about the horses, Max,” Abel says quickly. “Ezra’s orders.”

“And did Ezra say he could eat at the same table as you?”

Abel looks at the floor. “Didn’t say he couldn’t.”

“You know the rules!” Maximus bellows. “No fraternising!” He fetches Abel a stinging blow across the face. Then he turns, and gives Arthur a harder clout, knocking him off his bench.

A few days ago, Arthur would have been unable to stop himself from hitting back. But now … he wipes blood from his mouth with one hand, and pulls himself to his feet with the other; he keeps his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Get back to work, the lot of you!” Maximus bellows with laughter, and goes on his way.

~~

As Abel takes Arthur back to the stables, he says in a low voice, “I ’ope Max don’t report this to Ezra. The old man’s been in a right mood all day.”

“Why’s that?” 

“More stone’s gone missing overnight. Even after yesterday.”

“And who was on watch?” Arthur asks innocently.

Abel glances about. “I … must have … nodded off. These shifts …”

Arthur pats him on the back. “It must be hard. In case you ever think of leaving, I have a proposal for you.”

“You’re not going to get me into more trouble, are you?” Abel rubs his cheek.

“When I get out of here –”

“ _If_ you get out of here.” Barnabas trundles up behind them.

“ _When_ I get out of here, why don’t you come back with us? You like horses, and they seem to like you. You could start afresh in our village. Get work in our stables. Build yourself a home.”

Abel cocks his head. “Where is this village then?”

“A few days’ ride west. Not as far as Cornwall.”

“In the country? Me?” Abel rolls his eyes. “Nah … Thanks, but … told you – I’m a townie.” He stops, and considers. “Could look for work with the ’orses back at that inn though …”

~~

When Arthur gets back to the cell, late afternoon, he only sees three men passing the time there, instead of four.

“Where’s that miserable looking fellow? You haven’t killed and eaten him, have you?”

Kai laughs. “Not me. I don’t eat venomous reptiles. Maximus came and took him away. Said Ezra wanted a word with him.”

“And he didn’t come back?”

“Good riddance to ’im I say.” Brynn makes a rude gesture.

Arthur thinks perhaps the sour-faced man had learned all he needed to know.

~~

As Kai acquaints himself with the big grey mare – keeping well clear of her enormous hooves – he thanks the gods for the work Arthur has done with the horses.

“Well, you’re a beauty, aren’t you?” 

She has no fear of him; that’s good. He likes a brave horse. 

“What shall I call you, then?” He cocks his head. “Rowena? She’s a brave filly.”

The horse stares at him, impassive.

“Bit too flighty for my taste. Now Leesa was always a reliable ride. Lee-esa,” he says softly. “Is that your name? Leesa?”

The horse nudges him with her nose.

“Leesa it is, then!” He swings himself into the saddle. 

That’s more like it!

He picks up his spear from where it leans against the wall, and checks his knife in its sheath. Then he pets the horse’s neck, and tugs at her mane. 

“Don’t you worry.”

Leesa’s ears swivel back, as she learns his voice.

“We’ll come through this. Whatever they throw against us, eh?”

Leesa snorts, and takes a side-step as the grating starts to rise. 

Then she leaps forward, and Kai feels the surge of power beneath him; Leesa is the best weapon he’s got.

He turns to see who, what, and where his opponent might be, but he’s still alone in the oppressive heat of the arena, under an overcast sky. 

“And now!” Ezra shouts. “From Gaul – please put your hands together for the men you’ve all come from far and wide to see! The Aquitaine Twins!”

Twins? He is to fight two men at once? Well, that will be nothing he hasn’t done before. At least, this time, he’ll be able to see them. 

“This should be a real treat!” Ezra nods emphatically. “They do this for a living, not like half the rubbish you usually see brawling in this ’ere the-atre.”

Kai clenches his jaw. Ezra is putting him up against paid opposition? That wasn’t part of the deal …

“Jacques is the pike-man, in case you didn’t know. Abelard’s …. Well, you’ll see. They’ve fought in arenas everywhere from here to Rome, and never lost a fight.”

Well, Kai has never lost a fight either; that’s why he’s still here. He sends a resentful glance towards the podium, but in return – rather than showing irritation – Ezra seems to give him a slight nod.

“Let’s see if Brett can save me from having to pay their fee, shall we?”

Ezra … wants him to win. Perhaps, even, expects it …

“So give a big round of applause, please, for – Jacques et Abelard! The Aquitaine Twins!”

The crowd gives a deafening roar, and out come the Aquitaine Twins: first, Jacques, the pike-man, his upper body protected with armour of metal and leather, though his head and neck are bare. He towers over his supposed twin, who follows him out. 

Abelard, wearing lighter armour, holds a long rope of plaited leather in his hand. He swings it above his head, making it whistle through the air, then loops it, first to one side, then the other. 

Leesa snorts, and lifts her forelegs off the ground.

Kai sees a noose at the free end of Abelard’s rope. He has heard of this thing; they use it in Iberia … a reata. Abelard will try to snare him, or his horse, and pull one or both of them to the ground. 

Jacques and Abelard start making whooping noises.

Leesa’s ears flatten back against her head.

“Sh … stay with me, Leesa. It’s alright.” 

Both men advance, trying to herd him, but he must not let them box him in. 

The rope man is the greater threat, so Kai hefts his spear, and launches it, catching Abelard a glancing blow. 

Abelard clutches his right shoulder, and the rope drops to his side, but Jacques runs in from the flank, his pike aimed at Leesa’s belly. She turns and kicks out, knocking him aside.

Abelard recovers, swings the reata once again – this time above his head – and casts it.

Kai ducks; the rope swings over him, but lands round Leesa’s neck. 

Abelard tugs; the loop begins to close.

Leesa whickers in fright. She pulls, and the noose tightens, almost snug to her neck. 

Kai leans over, grips the knot with his left hand, to stop it tightening, then slips his knife beneath the noose, and starts cutting outwards. He must cut through the three strands of rope before Jacques recovers, and joins forces with Abelard, to pull him down. 

Abelard starts reeling himself in towards the horse, along the length of the reata, and Leesa braces herself, pulling against him.

Kai’s hand slips, and – though the blade’s not very sharp – it nicks Leesa’s neck just as Kai severs the first strand. Now, the horse’s blood makes his hand slippery, and the rope cuts into his flesh, and starts to tighten once again. 

Kai has to fight to keep his seat. “Steady, Leesa.” 

Almost through the second strand, he keeps working feverishly, as Abelard pulls a dagger from his belt and closes in.

Jacques sits up, rubbing his jaw, and – as the second strand of rope gives way – he struggles to his feet.

Startled, Leesa jumps sideways, yanking Abelard off his feet.

The last strand of the reata snaps. She’s free! 

“Good Girl!” Kai slaps her neck. “Clever horse.” 

Abelard quickly gathers up his rope, and starts making another noose with what he has left. _“Le distrais!”_ he shouts to Jacques. _“Gardes-moi!”_

Kai doesn’t need to speak Gaulish to know what that means.

Jacques makes a run at Leesa, pike held firm, but Abelard is closer. 

“Hah!” 

Abelard looks up, sees Leesa thundering towards him, cries out, and flaps his arms.

Leesa falters, but Kai kicks on, and Abelard goes down beneath her hooves. 

Kai brings her to a halt, behind Abelard’s broken body. Abelard moans and twitches; he can’t raise himself from the ground.

Jacques gasps, and stares, his face aghast, and – just for a moment – Kai sees himself standing there, and, in Abelard’s place, Arthur, broken beneath an enemy’s hooves.

Then Jacques charges at him: his eyes wild, his pike levelled at Leesa’s chest. 

Kai aims Leesa towards him. Wrenching her to one side before they meet, he swings his leg over her neck, twists in the air, and throws himself at Jacques, burying his dagger in the crook of Jacques’ neck.

They go down, rolling in the sand. When they come to rest, Kai drags himself free. Jacques chokes, clawing at the dagger.

“No!” Kai knocks his hand away. Jacques might yet live; with the wound stanched and seared, he might yet live.

Kai looks up at Ezra.

Ezra makes no move to ring the bell; just shrugs.

The bastard wants this man to die, so he won’t have to pay him for his work.

Heartsick, Kai walks away, and goes to catch his horse, and when he turns, he sees Jacques pull the dagger from his neck. Jacques chokes once more; he spits out blood, and more comes from the wound. He falls forward.

The crowd roars its approval.

Kai doesn’t know what to feel. 

He has fought two men who live – lived – by their fighting skills alone, and he has won. Both these twins knew the risks; they’ve killed many men themselves; would have killed him. 

He must harden his heart. He must keep winning. He must get out of here. From now on, he will not let himself see their faces when he kills them.

At last, when the applause dies down, Ezra gets to his feet. “Well, goodnight to the Aquitaine Twins! I’m impressed. I have to say, Brett is fast becoming one of my favourites. So much so, I’d like to keep him here forever.”

The crowd cheers, and Kai feels a chill.

“Only kidding!” Ezra grins at Kai. “That ain’t the deal is it? Off you go!”

Kai takes a deep breath, then leads Leesa back to the stabling area.

Gristle – the one Arthur says is called Abel – awaits him, wide-eyed, outside the bars.

“That was a blistering fight you ’ad there, Mister. Ezra looked well chuffed.” 

Kai hazards, “I thought he’d have been angry that I’d killed the men he brought in.” 

“He only had to bring ’em in because of you lot having to kill each other off so quick. Bloodthirsty lot, that mob out there. I reckon he oughta change the rules. Only let ’em kill one every now and then.” 

“You’ll get no argument from me.” Kai shows Abel the nick on Leesa’s neck. “Could you get me some of that black stuff for this?” 

Abel blinks, and hurries off. He soon returns, passes Kai a jar, then watches as Kai smears some of the ointment on the wound. 

“Will she be alright?” Abel sounds as if he might be going to cry.

“She’ll be fine, so long as you keep it clean. And make sure you keep treating her, until it’s healed. Her name’s ‘Leesa’ by the way.”

Abel frowns. “How d’you know what her name is?”

“She told me,” Kai says seriously.

“She –?” Abel’s mouth drops open. “You can talk to –?”

“No, not really.” Kai takes off Leesa’s saddle, and begins unfastening her bridle. “I named her after an old girlfriend. She seems to like it.”

Abel shakes his head. “You had me, there! I almost believe you _could_ talk to ’em! You know all about ’em, just like Morgen, don’t you?”

“Yes, like Morgen.”

Arthur might be fighting for his life right now, while he, Kai, passes the time of day with the guard, instead of watching. But he doesn’t dare show too much interest. He pulls the bridle off, over the horse’s ears.

“P’raps I should ask Ezra if you could come down here too, on the off days?” 

Kai wants to say, ‘Yes, please.’ But he isn’t sure Arthur would want to share that privilege, and in any case, being seen working together might be pushing their luck. 

“No, it’s alright. Morgen wouldn’t want me here. I’m just his bondsman, after all.”

Abel shrugs. “Best get you cleaned up then. Barney!”

A roar goes up, followed by shouts of, “Die! Die! Die!” 

Kai stops himself from running to the bars, and that is just as well.

Maximus comes into view. “Barnabas is busy. What d’you want?”

“Oh. Maximus. Could you … er … take ’im down to the washrooms for me please?”

“What are you gonna be doing then?”

“I gotta look after … Leesa.” Abel pats the horse, with a proprietary air. “Ezra’s orders. We gotta look after ’em better. They’re our assets!”

“Assets!” Maximus spits on the ground, then scowls at Kai. “You gonna give me any trouble?”

“No, Maximus. I’ve had enough of fighting for one day.”

Maximus grunts, unlocks the cell, and ushers him down towards the washrooms.

“You were friends with that Morgen feller, weren’t you?”

Kai doesn’t like the way Maximus said ‘were’, not ‘are’, but he sees Maximus studying him; he tries to keep his face expressionless.

“I’m Morgen’s bondsman.” The lie sounds less convincing each time he repeats it. “Other than that, I’ve no complaints against him.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts!” Maximus smirks. “Go on, get cleaned up.”

Another thing Kai doesn’t like is the way Maximus stands watching, while he washes. He gets it over with as quickly as he can. 

He still doesn’t even know whether Arthur came through today’s fight, so he returns to the cell as swiftly as the shackles will allow.

Brynn and Blacksmith look up when he comes in. Brynn claps three times. “All hail the conqueror of the Aquitaine Twins!” His sarcastic tone fails to conceal his admiration.

Blacksmith gets up, and slaps Kai on the back. “Well done, Mate!” 

But Kai can’t share their cheerful mood. 

It seems an age before Arthur appears outside the bars, and when he does, Kai fears the worst. Arthur won’t look at him as he comes in, and slumps down on a bench. He bears a wound on his left arm, and one across his cheek: both smeared with black.

“Morgen …” Kai says. “How goes it?” 

Arthur heaves a sigh.

“We all won our fights today,” Kai volunteers, hoping Arthur will tell him what he wants to hear.

“Congratulations.”

“I saw Brett’s fight!” Blacksmith slaps his thigh. “You should of seen ’im! Beat these two Gaulish blokes, ‘The Aquitaine Twins.’ Finished ’em both off, he did. I been hearing about them for years, Morgen, you should be proud of ’im, beating those two.” 

“Proud? Of killing for no reason? I suppose you all think I should be proud, too, of my day’s work.”

Kai’s heart starts to beat again. “You won your fight, then?” 

“Yes. I won. I killed a good man today. The crowd wanted him dead; I had no option but to murder him. When he saw that he was marked for death, he begged me not to leave him to those wild beasts.” Arthur blinks back tears. “Ewan of Cornwall is dead.”

“Oh, Ar– Morgen, I’m sorry for that.”

“I am more sorry.” All pretence at reserve abandoned – his despair plain on his face – Arthur looks at Kai, and says, “I don’t know whether I can keep doing this.”

“You must!” Kai shuffles over to Arthur, and grips him by the shoulders; shakes him. “You must, Morgen! You owe me a flogging, remember?”

Arthur just shakes his head.

“Come on, Morgen. You said it yourself, we are not to blame for this. We must win. We must get out of here. If I can do it, so can you. And I _will_ do it.”

Arthur casts his eyes down. “Just because you can kill without conscience, doesn’t mean I can.”

Kai thrusts Arthur away from him. “You think I take pleasure in it?”

“It doesn’t bother you so much.”

It cuts Kai to the quick. “Do you say so? Do you? Then perhaps next time, I should let them skewer both me, and my horse. Would that satisfy you, that I, too, have a conscience?”

Arthur looks stricken. “No. I did not mean –” 

Kai closes his eyes, and takes a few breaths. Then he looks at Arthur with compassion. “I am sorry for what you had to do today. But please, do not throw your life away, and mine with it.”

Arthur bites his lip. “I will not. I promise.” 

Kai glances at their cell-mates. Blackmith frowns, as if he is just working something out. Brynn stares at his fingernails. 

Ezra walks past the cell, hands clasped behind his back, and whistles a jaunty tune.

~~

**XII**

As they eat their morning meal, Brynn points his bit of bread at Arthur. “Wait a minute. Did you say you fought Ewan of Cornwall yesterday?”

“Yes, and killed him,” Arthur says grimly.

“But didn’t you fight him the first day you were here?”

“Yes. What of it?”

Brynn’s brow creases. “Well, nothing really. It’s just that … Ezra doesn’t usually make you fight the same bloke twice. Too easy for the punters to predict the winner – it’s not good for business.”

“Perhaps he’s running out of options,” Kai suggests. “He did bring in professionals for my fight.”

“Well, perhaps he shouldn’t let life or death be at the whim of the crowd.” Arthur brandishes a chicken leg. “They seem to want more killing every time.”

Kai nods. “Abel said that too.” 

Later that morning, the guards herd all the remaining prisoners out into the arena together. Arthur does a quick count; there’s only twenty of them left.

Ezra, standing at the podium, rings the bell for their attention.

“There’s been a change of rules. I think you’ll approve. From now on, I’m only going to allow the public to sentence one man – or woman – to death, at each performance.”

A ragged cheer goes up. 

“Don’t think I’ve gone soft. I just can’t afford to keep replacing you. Takes time and man-power I can’t spare. And I think they’ll appreciate it all the more, if I don’t let ’em have what they want all the time, you get me? But you won’t be able to rest on your laurels, because it’s still at my discretion, to be decided on the spur of the moment, so as far as you’re concerned, you’re still fighting for your lives. I don’t want to see anyone getting sloppy. Understand?”

“Yes Ezra,” they all repeat.

All except Arthur. He stares at someone on the other side of the group. The man looks angry, lost and confused, as if he’s only just been dragged into this hell. A bruise blossoms beneath his left eye. Arthur begins to shuffle towards him.

Kai blocks his path, and says quietly, “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“That’s Karn. He’s alone here. We should –”

“What? Help him? Have you lost your mind?”

“He is a victim here, as we are,” Arthur says, in a low, determined voice. He tries to push past Kai, but Kai won’t budge. 

“Has yesterday taught you nothing?” Kai whispers urgently. “One of us might have to fight him. We both might.” 

“Karn said that between us, there would be another time, and perhaps that time is not far off. But until then, we can at least behave like civilised men. Try to help each other.”

“Don’t be a fool! You only just defeated him before. And now, he doesn’t even know we’re here. Will you give up the advantage of surprise, on my behalf, as well as yours?”

Arthur stares at Kai for a moment; imagines him, with god-knows-what bizarre and unfamiliar weapon in his hand, having to go up against this first-class swordsman. 

“I’m sorry, K– Brett. I did not think …”

So Arthur gives up one more little piece of himself; turns his back on Karn, and moves away, trying not to draw any more attention.

It’s even more of a relief than usual when Ezra stops talking. At last, Arthur can go back to the stables, and get on with work that does some good, even if it is only for the other poor dumb beasts who must do Ezra’s will.

~~

Maximus shoves him into the narrow cell, ready for today’s fight: number … seven? Arthur checks his fights off on his fingers: the men he’s beaten; the man, and the woman he’s killed. Yes, this is seven. 

And today, a familiar weapon awaits him on the bench. He’s seen Kai use this axe so many times, to deadly effect. He should have asked Kai to teach him how to wield it. But he was too proud and foolish.

Picking it up, he finds it lighter than he remembered. Perhaps this place has made him stronger. Still, the weapon is much heavier than Arthur’s sword. He hefts it; takes a few practice swings, and just misses the wall.

He must take more care. If he blunts its edge, Kai won’t be pleased. 

The balance is different with an axe. You need to bend your knees – keep your weight lower – else you can’t control your swing. 

Arthur remembers Kai’s lesson to Corin: ‘the axe man is vulnerable. To strike a blow, he must draw back his arm. And that is when he’s open.’ So he must be more swift than his opponent, especially if they wield a sword.

He hears his name announced.

His chest tight with a sense of the inevitable, he waits under a darkening sky, with Kai’s axe in his hand, to hear Ezra tell him what he already knows: the name of his opponent.

Karn comes out, raises his sword – his own sword – in ironic salute, while turning to face each section of the crowd. When his gaze falls upon Arthur, he looks startled. He thought he was to fight someone named Morgen. But then his eye tracks to the axe in Arthur’s hand, and a slow, supremely confident smile spreads across his face.

And Arthur wanted to help this man! He feels a sick and fearful rage blaze up inside him. At least he now knows not to be fooled by any feigned hurt or weariness. He won’t allow the cunning dog to flick sand in his eye.

He can see Kai, staring out of a cell not far away, tossing a sword from one hand to the other, looking as anxious as Arthur feels. He gives Kai a brief nod, then, as Karn moves in, Arthur gives his enemy his full attention. 

Their blades ring together, axe against sword, and as they test each other out, a terrible certainty comes over Arthur: Karn is too quick for him. Whatever Arthur does – however circumspect or swift he tries to be – he’ll lose this fight.

He breaks out in a sweat as Karn steps up the pace still more. He dare not leave himself open; he must block and parry; never go on the attack.

He tries that trick Kai uses to disarm him – a circular sweep of the axe – but Karn just steps back; Arthur only catches the tip of his sword, and he keeps hold.

And now Karn has the initiative, moving forward, making Arthur back away from him; making him block, and block again, with never a chance to strike a blow, and Arthur knows his moves are too predictable, but Karn’s lightning attacks give him no time to vary them.

He is breathing hard, but Karn is not.

He can see it in Karn’s eyes – the man is toying with him, forcing him towards the wall, just because he can.

Then the clouds part; a bright shaft of sunlight blinds Arthur, and Karn catches him a stunning blow to the elbow with the flat of his blade. Pain shoots up and down Arthur’s arm; the axe falls from his nerveless fingers. He backs away, clutching his arm, his weapon out of reach. 

His heart falters. He has never known defeat like this.

Karn gives a slight smile. “Now we know.” 

Contempt in his face, Karn lets his sword arm drop, and in that moment, Arthur hears a hiss of metal on the sand. 

An instant after he sees the sword at his feet, it’s in his hand, and pointing at Karn’s throat. He feels a joy of victory as sharp and clear as his despair, but two heartbeats before. How many times has this trick saved his life? How many times has Kai?

Now it’s Karn’s turn to back away. He looks at Arthur, open-mouthed. “You cheated!”

Only Arthur and Kai can hear him above the crowd.

Karn runs to the podium; Ezra rings the bell for silence.

“He cheated!” Karn shouts, his voice high with panic. “That wasn’t his sword! He was given an axe, and he lost it!”

The crowd doesn’t like a sore loser. Someone starts up a chant of: “Die! Die! Die!” 

Ezra smirks. “All’s fair in love and war, Mate.” 

“But, but …”

_“Die! Die! Die!”_

“No! I won!”

Ezra makes a calming motion with his hands. “Don’t get your breeches in a twist. That _was_ cheating … a bit. So, this time, you get to live. But don’t question me again, alright?”

Karn’s fists clench. A look of bitter disappointment on his face, he bows his head. 

Arthur goes to Kai’s cell bars, to pass the sword back to him.

“Oi! None of that!” Ezra bellows.

The air seems to have been sucked from Arthur’s lungs.

“He gave up his weapon of his own free will,” Ezra says reasonably. “You can’t just give it back to him.”

“But –”

Ezra shakes his head.

Arthur sends Kai a look of desperate apology.

But Kai nods calmly. “I knew the risk.”

“Leave all weapons behind for collection, same as usual!” 

Karn looks as if he’d like to argue that point too, but then he just smiles wolfishly at Arthur, as they head back to their cells. 

One thing saves Arthur from despair: the knowledge that, if any man can win a fight with nothing but his bare hands, then that man is Kai.

~~

**XIII**

Kai stands in the middle of the arena.

He has no shield, no armour, and no weapons. 

He’s fought with less; at least his hands aren’t tied.

Ezra announces him: “Here he is! Brett, the Sax with no axe. No sword, either, because he gave it to his mate. Ain’t that touching? Everybody say ‘Aaaaah!’”

The crowd obliges.

“He’s a hopeless case really. But he’s in luck today. He’s only gotta fight John, the Man Mountain.”

And out into the arena comes … Blacksmith.

Kai never even knew his name was John.

When John sees him, his hands drop to his sides; a look of sadness fleets across his face, but then he sets his jaw, and shifts his grip on the stock of his enormous whip.

“Sorry Brett.” He cracks the whip, catching Kai on the left shoulder with the tip. “I’ve won my last five. My wife … I’ve gotta beat you.”

“You’ve got to try.”

The lash licks out, and leaves a line of red dots, swelling on Kai’s flank.

Kai has been here before; he knows what to do. He sets himself, his arms outstretched.

The lash moves fast, raising a weal across his belly.

Poor John looks as if this hurts him too, but that’s just making him hit harder. 

This time the lash flicks low. Kai tries to dodge, but it catches him round the knees, and takes him off his feet. He stretches across the sand and snatches at the whip’s trailing end, but John tugs, and it slips away.

Feigning hopelessness, Kai stays down. The sand stings as it gets into the cuts on his legs and side. 

Now John walks towards him, with a determined air, and sends the lash out once again, and Kai just steels himself, and takes a savage cut across his chest. It hurts; the blood wells up.

John’s face contorts with misery, and this time Kai gives him no chance to raise the stock again; he grabs the lash halfway along it length, and winds it round his fist.

And now, for the first time, John looks afraid. He pulls on the whip with both hands, but only succeeds in hauling Kai back to his feet.

They circle one another, getting closer as Kai pulls himself in, along the length of the whipcord. “Drop it!” 

“I can’t.” John tries to jerk his weapon free, but Kai has several coils around his arm. 

They are about five cubits apart. Kai makes a run, gets behind John, throws a loop of the now-slackened whip around his neck, and pulls. But John is a huge man, taller than Kai; not easily forced to his knees. He clutches at the whip to stop it tightening.

Kai’s feet are off the ground; still he clings on. “Submit!” he growls. “I don’t want to choke you, Blacksmith.”

But John jerks forward, bending at the waist, and throws Kai over his back. 

Kai loses his grip, and lands on the ground, his head at the Man Mountain’s feet. He kicks back; his feet thud into John’s groin, and John drops to his knees, clutching himself.

Kai scrambles to his feet. He grabs the stock, and hits John on the back of the head; John slumps to the ground, out cold.

Ezra rings the bell. “You never fail me, do you, Brett?” he says, his head on one side. “Always full of bright ideas, always battling. Always good to watch.”

“What about John?” Kai’s heart is in his mouth.

“Well, I can’t ask you to slaughter a man while he’s unconscious, can I? Where’s the fun in that?”

Kai nods his thanks.

“Off you go. Get them wounds cleaned up. Don’t want you festering, do we?”

As Kai goes past him, John opens his eyes. Then he covers his face with his hands, and moans. 

~~

By the time he has seen to his injuries, Kai is the last to get back to their living quarters. He arrives along with the evening meal, to find Arthur waiting, anxious, at the bars. 

“Hungry, are you? I’m not surprised, after fighting Karn.” 

“You’re alright?”

“Of course!” Kai grins.

Arthur shakes his head, then smiles back in amazement. “I would not have liked to go out into that arena with no weapon in my hand, as you did.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been my first choice either.” Kai shrugs. “But it worked out alright.”

“You saved my life.” Arthur touches Kai on the arm – all the thanks he can afford him in this place. 

“Perhaps. I suppose Karn might have killed you this time, if he could. Though I don’t think Ezra wants you dead just yet.”

A harsh, choking sound comes from the corner, where John sits with his head in his hands. “It’s all very well for you. But I’ll … I’ll never … go home. Never see ’er again, never. I know it.”

Kai approaches him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, John. Truly. But Morgen and I have seven wins each now. We must get out, and when we do, we’ll be back to put a stop to all of this, I swear it.”

But Arthur shakes his head.

Kai frowns. “We _will_ come back and put an end to this senseless butchery – save these men.”

“How?” Arthur says flatly. “We are many leagues from home. You’ve seen the size of this operation.”

“We _have_ to Arth– Morgen. We have to try.”

“And I say no. We have not the man-power.”

“But look at what this is doing to these men, their families.” Kai looks him in the eye. “To us.”

Arthur huffs out a breath. “You think we could defeat Ezra and all his men, in their home territory … this fortress? And even if we could – what then? Can we tear down the arena with our bare hands? The cockroaches will always gather round the remains of a Roman feast. We kill every one of them, and more will take their place, before we’re even halfway home. At least Ezra, much as I despise him, has some sense of fair play. He keeps his word.”

Kai can’t believe this. “But we must do _something_.” 

“We shall just have to spread the word among our allies, not to travel out of their own lands unless in groups of four or more, and to be wary, if they stay in a strange place.”

“Gah!” Kai throws his hunk of bread at the wall.

“You finished with that?” Brynn picks it up and starts in on it.

A sullen, disappointed silence falls: broken only by the occasional sniff from John, and the clanking as Kai tries to pace the cell.

After a while, Arthur raises his head. “Oh, please sit down, Brett.” 

Arthur sounds so tired, Kai can’t stay angry. He sits down, and lets Arthur share his bread with him.

~~

**XIV**

The next time Abel takes him to the stables, Arthur tells him, “I want to see Ezra.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Abel shakes his head vigorously. “Prisoners don’t ask to see Ezra. _He_ summons _them_.”

Arthur smiles brightly. “Well, this will be a nice change for him. Can you take me to him?”

“We…ll, I’ll ’ave to ask.” Abel scratches his head, then calls out, “Max?”

“What?” Maximus calls back, from the other end of the corridor.

“He wants to see Ezra.”

“WHAT?”

“It’s Morgen. Says he wants to see Ezra.”

Max approaches. “Oh, he does, does he?”

Addressing not Max, but Abel, Arthur says, “I have an idea.”

Maximus puts his hands on his hips. “Oh, you ‘have an idea’ do you? Well this should be funny. I’ll take you there myself, just for the laugh.” He grabs a handful of Arthur’s hair, and jerks Arthur towards him. “Come on then, come and see Ezra, and tell him your ‘idea’.” 

Then he leans down, blows stinking breath in Arthur’s face, and adds, for Arthur’s ears only: “I’ve got a few ideas of my own, funnily enough. But I’m willing to hear yours.”

As Maximus shoves him down the corridor, the thought of scraping his heel – shackles and all – down Maximus’ shin, makes Arthur’s heart race. But he knows better than to try it.

When they reach Ezra’s office, Max lets go of Arthur’s hair, puts a meaty paw on his upper arm, and pushes him inside.

“What’s this then?” Ezra sends an irritated glance Arthur’s way. “I hope you haven’t been naughty again, after I’ve treated you so nice.”

Arthur bites back a retort, and just says, “I have a suggestion to put to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ezra makes a dismissive movement with his hand, and Maximus pulls a face, and leaves the room.

Arthur relaxes slightly. “Ezra, you seem like a man who doesn’t like waste.”

Ezra sniffs, and regards Arthur speculatively. “Go on.”

“Well, you are wasting talent which you could put to use, and soon, you will be wasting your horses as well.”

“What do you mean?” Ezra pushes his chair back from his desk. “You’re looking after them now, aren’t you? Showing Abel what to do?”

“Your horses badly need to be shod. And that’s a skill I don’t possess.”

“Well, there ain’t no blacksmiths around here. No bloody craftsmen – just thieves and layabouts. No one prepared to do an honest –”

“There is,” Arthur cuts in. “There’s one in my cell. A blacksmith.”

“Is there now?” Ezra starts to look interested.

“John, whom you call ‘Man Mountain.’ He is a blacksmith by trade. Or was. Why don’t you get him to shoe the horses for you?” 

“Not a bad idea.” Ezra buffs his fingernails on his tunic. “The armourer could do with help in the forge an’ all. You lot are hard on the weaponry.”

“Then, if he does a good job … Ezra, that poor man has been here long enough. He needs to go home.”

Ezra raises an eyebrow. “What’s this all about? You gone off Brett, have you?” He smirks. “Is the Man Mountain your new _amour_?”

Arthur swallows. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t give me that, ‘Morgen.’ Brett’s not your bondsman, and we both know it.”

“Oh ...” Arthur can feel his pulse pounding in his throat. “You heard, then, that I promised him his freedom, if, and when, we get out.”

Ezra shakes his head. “Have it your way. But you’d have done better to tell me the truth.”

“I have –”

“Get out of here!” Ezra waves him away. 

As Arthur goes down the corridor, Ezra calls out after him: “I don’t like it when people lie to me. Don’t say I didn’t warn yer!”

~~

When Arthur is brought back from the stables, he finds just Kai and Brynn there in the cell.

“Where’s John?” 

“I don’t know.” Kai looks worried. “Maximus said Ezra wanted to see him. Took the poor fuck away, shaking in his shackles.”

Arthur nods. “I don’t think he needs worry.”

“We all need to worry in ’ere,” Brynn says sourly. “Not that it does you any good.”

But just then, Blacksmith appears, unshackled, grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you!” He clasps Arthur’s hand through the bars. “You must be a magician or something.”

Kai raises an eyebrow. “Why? What’s happened?” 

“Ezra said if I work a week getting the foundry going, and get the horses shod, I can go home! Then I ’as to come back once a month to see to ’em. And he’ll pay me for it!”

Kai stares at Arthur. “This was your doing?”

Arthur nods. “I suggested it. I suppose it must have made sense.”

“Then you have my thanks as well. I should have had more faith – you always find a way.”

“I’ll always try,” Arthur says ruefully.

“Well, best of luck!” John offers Kai his hand. “You both been good to me.”

“John, wait!” Kai keeps hold of John’s hand. “There’s something you can do for me.”

“Oh, what? Anything, Brett. Just say the word.”

“For my tenth fight – make sure my axe is sharp.”

John looks as if he has just been given a gold piece. “Of course I will! Yours is that big fancy one ain’t it? I won’t let you down.”

All three – even Brynn – clasp hands with John, and then he leaves them.

Each man heaves a sigh.

Looking enviously after John, Brynn says, “Can’t think of some clever wheeze to get _me_ out of here then, can you?”

Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry if John’s good fortune irks you.” 

“Didn’t think so.” 

~~

Kai wakes to the sound of people talking quietly outside the bars. When he looks out, he sees a huddle of men: mostly sweepers, one or two of the guards, and one of the red tunics, all looking furtive. He listens hard, and picks out a few phrases: ‘there’ll be trouble’; ‘not enough of us’; ‘the guards might …’; ‘… bargaining power ...’ 

Then Maximus heaves into view; the group swiftly breaks up.

Kai sighs. Fight day again: seven fights behind them; three to go.

Either sounds just as daunting. 

Ezra says he ‘likes’ him, and Kai believes that Ezra has at least come to respect Arthur. But what does that mean for their chances of getting out of here? Who will their next opponents be? Will Ezra give them a molehill to climb, or a mountain?

Kai doesn’t want to end up like poor Brynn: knowing tomorrow will be the same as yesterday; the day after that, just like today.

~~ 

The sun goes down. The women bring the evening meal. But Kai and Arthur stay slumped at either side of the cell, each sunk in his own thoughts.

Brynn shakes his head, goes to fetch their food for them, and set their portions down beside them. “What’s up with you two, then?” 

Kai picks up his piece of meat, but puts it down again. “The boy I fought today never stood a chance.” He sighs. “I don’t know what Ezra was thinking, putting him up against me.”

Brynn scoffs. “I gave up trying to work out what goes on in that bastard’s head a long time ago. He ’as ’is little favourites. You must be one of ’em.”

“But to set me against such a green youth …”

“Like ’e was giving you a breather, eh?” 

“Exactly.” Arthur looks up. “Mine was no more challenging than Brett’s.” 

“Mine fought bravely. I tried not to injure him, but that wound I gave him … it will need hot iron. I hope they’ve enough sense not to let it fester.”

Arthur sighs. “At least yours still lives.”

“Oh, don’t be so maudlin.” Brynn takes a bite of roast meat, and chews it. “You wait till you’ve been ’ere six moons – see how you like it by then.”

Arthur frowns. “Surely you can’t have been here so long as that?” 

“Haven’t I?” Brynn pulls his pallet away from the wall; behind it, he has scratched a tally on the stone. “One day for each mark.” 

Arthur blows out his cheeks. “And what exactly is it that Ezra’s got against you?” 

“Buggered if I know.” 

Kai glances nervously at Arthur, then away. “You must have some idea. Come on Brynn. It’s just the three of us in here now – no spies. What made you warn us, as you did, when we were first brought in here?”

Brynn sniffs. “All I know is, me and my mate Gavyn – we were out in the forest. Been kicked out of our village. Same reason you were, most like.”

“We weren’t –”

Kai shakes his head, and Arthur falls silent.

“We was cutting wood to build a shelter. Along comes this wagon, and these blokes get out. Maximus was one of ’em. We only had our axes to hand, and we’d never used ’em to fight. They took us prisoner. And we get back here, and Ezra just looks at us and … he knew. I dunno how, but he knew. And he says it, right out loud. We denied it, of course. But … well, somehow we managed to get to our ninth fight, and … he put us up against each other. We had to fight each other.”

Arthur’s eyes meet Kai’s. This is what they have been dreading all along, though neither one has voiced his fear.

“And Gavyn – he wouldn’t fight me. Oh, he went through the motions, but …” Brynn’s head drops. “I had to do it. I knew what would happen if I didn’t. Torn apart by wild beasts, he would have been. At least I spared him that.” 

Arthur sits in frozen silence.

Brynn’s whole body shakes. “I just wish someone’d fucking kill me. Get me out of here.”

Kai goes and sits next to Brynn, and puts an arm around his shoulders.

Brynn looks up at him. “Promise me you’ll do it?”

“Do what?” Kai knows already, but he has to hear it.

“Finish me off. If we meet in the ring, just … kill me. Don’t get yourself into trouble, but … if you can. If you get the chance.”

Kai looks at Arthur, hoping to hear him say, ‘No. Hold on – we’ll get you out.’ But Arthur has not changed his mind; he just blinks, and looks away.

Kai nods. “Yes. I will try. I swear.”

~~

**XV**

None of them got much sleep last night in the oppressive heat, and though the horses have been restive all day, the stables were still a welcome relief, after the stifling atmosphere in the cell. The threatening storm has yet to make good with a downpour, but now and again Arthur hears a faint sound of thunder in the distance.

It is still so hot and airless; his head feels like it’s been stuffed with wool.

He’s just about to head back to the living quarters, leaving Abel to finish off in the stables, when he feels a heavy hand fall upon his shoulder. 

“What’s this then?” Maximus pulls Arthur round to face him.

“What’s what?” Abel hurries up. 

Maximus turns towards him, shoving Arthur in front of him. “What’s he doing walking around loose, with no shackles on him?”

Arthur looks with dismay at his unfettered feet. He hadn’t intended to cause trouble, for himself, or for Abel. 

“Oh, I forgot ’em, Max. But you can trust him. He won’t –”

“Prisoners, are to be shackled at all times, when unsupervised,” Maximus says, as if he were reading from a book.

“Oh, be reasonable, Max. He has to have ’em off around the horses.” 

Maximus looks up and down the corridor. “I don’t see any horses around here. Do you?” A smile spreads across his face. “Twenty lashes, for the both of you. Him, for being unshackled – you, for gross negligence.”

Abel’s eyes widen.

Arthur pulls free, and turns to face Maximus. “It was my fault. I distracted him. Only I should take the beating.”

Thunder rumbles: getting closer now.

Maximus licks his lips. “So you want forty, do you?” 

Arthur feels himself break out in a sweat. Forty, from Maximus, who bears a grudge – and with that studded whip – will all but kill him.

“Yeah, I reckon you’d enjoy taking that from me.” Max sticks a hand inside his breeches, and adjusts himself. “Well, you can have ’em, for insubordination. Abel still gets his, too. I decide who takes beatings around here, and –”

“Except when I do.” Ezra appears behind Abel. “What’s this all about?” 

“Him!” Maximus points a finger at Arthur. “He was walking round without shackles on.” Maximus’ accusing finger swings round to Abel. “And he let him get away with it – it’s against the rules!”

Ezra gives Arthur a stern look. “I hope you weren’t trying to escape, Morgen?”

“I was not. When I left the stables, I just didn’t think.”

Abel nods vigorously.

“There you are, Max,” Ezra says calmly. “Seems reasonable to me.”

“But! But he was walking about … he _could_ have escaped.”

“This one’s not going anywhere.” Ezra smirks. “Not without his ‘bondsman’ anyway!”

“But Ezra, it’s against the rules!” Maximus’ face reddens. “Prisoners, just walking about! And Abel’s just as bad for letting him do it.”

Ezra shakes his head. “What is your problem, Maximus? Eh? Under that miserable exterior, you’re a right miserable bugger all the way through, aren’t you?”

“But Ezra, what about –”

“No. Morgen here’s saved me money I’d have had to shell out for new horses. I don’t want him flogged, he’s too valuable. Nor Abel neither. Understand?”

“But Ezra –”

“Don’t argue with me.” Ezra puts his hands on his hips and stares Max down. “I’m in charge here, and I’m telling you to stop bleating, and find some other poor bastard to persecute.”

With a face like a cow’s arse, Maximus storms off, and Arthur knows, this will not be forgotten.

~~

He has the same sword as last time – the one he sacrificed to Arthur, so he could beat Karn – and a small round shield. Across the arena, facing him is … Brynn.

So this is it.

Kai gave his word; he wishes he had not. Then he remembers the tally on the wall – the days and nights Brynn has spent here, bereft, and with no hope of ever leaving – and he steels himself to deliver on his promise. But his stomach churns, because tonight, he will have another innocent man’s blood on his hands.

Brynn looks serene; he nods to Kai across the sand, and draws one of the heavy darts from behind his shield – the one Kai used when he killed Manus. Brynn lifts his chin, as if to say, ‘come on, let’s get this over with.’

They circle one another. Kai holds his shield high; he can’t afford to lose an eye, but when Brynn throws – two darts in quick succession – both are too-clearly aimed to miss.

A grumble goes up from the spectators.

This won’t do. Kai cannot kill him if he just surrenders, so he rushes Brynn, and lays into his shield. “Come on, Brynn. You can do better than that! Sitting in that cell has made you soft!” 

Brynn shoves him away, smashing his heavy shield into Kai’s left shoulder.

Kai falls back, and Brynn throws his third dart; it clatters off Kai’s shield.

“You must like it here, to have stayed so long!”

Another dart whistles past Kai’s ear.

“That’s more like it! At least give me some exercise.”

“Exercise you want, is it?” 

Brynn throws again; the dart hits the top of Kai’s left foot. It doesn’t stick in, but by the gods, it hurts; blood starts running down between Kai’s toes.

But Brynn has only one dart left. He stares at it for a moment, and looses a high-pitched laugh. Throwing his shield aside, he gives Kai the slightest nod, clenches his last dart in his fist, screams, and makes a run at Kai, giving him no choice but to defend himself.

Kai’s sword pierces Brynn’s belly. 

Brynn drops the dart, grips Kai by the upper arms, and pulls him close. 

Kai lets go his hilt, and holds him. 

Brynn whispers, ‘Thank you.’ Blood begins to trickle from the corner of his mouth; his eyes lose focus.

Cries of dismay go up around the arena. 

As Kai pulls out his sword, and lowers Brynn’s limp body to the ground, the crowd starts chanting, “Fix! Fix! Fix!”

Before Kai has time to hurl abuse at them, for speaking so of this man’s death, the bell sounds. Kai turns to the podium. 

Ezra looks far from happy. “Alright, alright!” He gets to his feet, and makes calming motions with his hands. “All bets are off on that last fight – all monies will be returned, as given. And you –” Ezra points a finger at Kai. “You better watch your step, Brett, Old Son. I could go off you.”

Kai raises his hands. “I had to –”

“Yes, I know – he was coming at you. And I know a set-up when I see it, an’ all. Now bugger off!” 

He takes his seat again. A long-haired woman in a blue dress, who occupies the seat next to Ezra, says something to him; he nods, as if what she said was known to him.

Kai bends down to close Brynn’s sightless eyes, then trails back to his cell, amid a hail of rotten vegetables.

~~

**XVI**

As Kai uses some of his drinking water to clean his wounded foot, Ezra begins another of his interminable announcements.

“Well, we have a treat for you today. We have visitors from Rome itself.”

The spectators erupt into jeers, and howls, and wolf whistles. 

“May I present my honoured guest, the Princess Benedicta.”

Of course! He knows her now: the witch from Rome, who tried to take Arthur from him. Damn near succeeded, too. Though Arthur swore she was a temporary madness that afflicted him – and Kai chose to accept his word – still, to this day, Kai doesn’t really know whether it was simply duty to his land and people that kept Arthur by his side.

“And would you believe our luck?” Ezra continues. “Her centurion, Nestor, is gonna show us how it’s done. He’s offered to participate in one of our fights today. So here he is – please give a big hand to Nestor! Centurion of Rome!”

And out he struts – Rome’s finest: so he evidently thinks – his arrogant head held high, his breastplate gleaming. He turns full circle, bowing to each section of the audience. 

They hoot with derision, but that just makes Nestor puff himself up more.

“And up against him, with eight fights under his belt already – our own, our very own, Morgen!”

Now the crowd cheers, simply because Arthur’s not from Rome.

Arthur comes out into the ring, dressed in similar garb to Nestor, only much more battered and ill-kept. His breastplate does not gleam. Like Nestor, Arthur bears a short sword, and a dagger.

Kai’s heart sinks. No easy ride for either of them today. Arthur may have killed a few Roman stragglers with the short sword, but the muscular, and no doubt well-trained, well-fed Nestor outreaches Arthur by an inch or two. 

Arthur spares not a glance towards the podium, where Benedicta sits: no doubt looking down on him – as she always did – as if he were some species of worm. But when Arthur looks across at Nestor, the light of recognition shines in his eyes.

Nestor knows Arthur too. A grin spreads across his face. “You are the savage who would steal our princess from us!”

“I’m well rid of her.”

Much as it pleases Kai to hear it, he knows better than to take things said to needle an opponent, as the truth.

Nestor nods, and draws his sword. “This arena suits you. This is where you belong – with the wild beasts.”

“You should know. Rome’s full of them. Two less – now.”

Nestor growls and launches an attack, drawing blood on Arthur’s forearm.

Arthur hisses in pain; a fury takes him. More agile than Nestor, he too draws blood – a wound on Nestor’s thigh. 

Nestor looks down, amazed to see blood coursing down his leg. He must have thought Rome knew all there was to know about this game. 

But Arthur has been fighting for survival since he spilt his first blood in a fight: the day he turned fourteen. This is no game to him. With dagger drawn as well as sword, he forces Nestor back, with lunge and slash and cut and jab.

Gripping the bars, Kai holds his breath, to see whether Arthur’s plan comes off. 

Nestor drops back, and back again; his heel hits the base of the whipping post. He loses balance, tries to catch himself, twists in mid-air, and crashes to the ground, flat on his face.

The crowd roars with laughter.

Nestor looks up to see Arthur standing over him, sword at his throat.

Ezra rings the bell. “Well, well! Rome is vanquished!”

Furious, Nestor scrambles to his feet, and pulls his tunic straight. “You haven’t heard the last of this, you filthy Celt!”

Arthur just looks relieved. He drops both sword and dagger, and heads back to his cell without a word.

~~

When Arthur gets back to the living quarters, he finds Kai already waiting for him, tossing a pebble from one hand to the other.

“So …” Kai studies the unremarkable stone intently. “Benedicta.”

“Indeed.” Arthur felt no happier to see her than did Kai. “I wonder what she’s doing here.”

“Come looking for you, of course.” Kai sits himself down on a bench. “What else would bring her back to our shores?”

Arthur shrugs. “It could be anything. Trade … diplomacy. If she were looking for me, why come to London?”

“Perhaps she was on her way. Stopping for rest, or for provisions.”

“Perhaps.” Arthur scuffs his toe in the sand. “I do not think so.”

Kai places the pebble carefully on the bench beside him, and balances another on top of it. “But you wish it were so?” 

“I do not!” Arthur turns on him with fury. “I left that witch behind me many years ago.”

“She left _you_.” Kai places a third pebble on top of the second. His tower begins to wobble. “That’s why you’re angry.”

“That’s what you think? That I am still moping after her?”

“Argh! I don’t know!” Kai swings a fist, and knocks over his little tower. “This place has driven me half-mad. I killed a friend today, and part of me was glad of it. We must –”

“Get out of here,” Arthur finishes for him. 

“Two more days.” 

“If Ezra keeps his word.”

“And if we win our last fights.”

“True.” Still, Arthur will not voice his fear – that there will be just one last fight, not two. 

Their meal arrives.

They eat in silence.

Dusk falls.

The guards cease patrolling.

The candles gutter.

And they are alone in the cell.

Kai lies down on the pallet behind the low wall shielding the latrine; no guard could see the pallet from outside the cell.

“Morgen,” he says softly. “Will you lie here with me?”

Arthur heaves a sigh. “I don’t think there’s much point in using those names any more. Benedicta will have told Ezra who we are.”

“Then, Arthur,” Kai persists, a catch in his voice. “Will you lie here with me?”

But Arthur feels reluctant, though he’s not sure why. “Perhaps now is not the time.” 

He hears Kai sniff. He must think Benedicta is what stands between them. 

It’s not that. It’s this place … 

“Arthur, please …” Kai’s voice sounds hoarse. “We are alone here now.”

Arthur sighs, gets up and crosses to Kai’s pallet. These shackles will not help them. Still, they might take some comfort from each other. He sits down on the edge, and takes Kai’s hand in his.

Kai takes a sharp breath, then draws Arthur’s hand down, letting him feel how much he wants him. 

But Arthur feels … nothing; no desire. It has been so long … nearly a whole moon since last they coupled; almost as long since last they touched in intimacy. And this place … the stink; the fear; the pointless killing …

Perhaps they could just – 

“It is no matter.” Kai rolls onto his side, to face the wall. “I thought, now the others have gone …”

“Only let us wait until we are free,” Arthur pleads. “Would you have me give relief in this stinking cell or –”

“‘Give relief’? Is that all it would mean to you? Giving me relief?”

“No, I didn’t –”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Kai says miserably.

“Kai –”

“Leave me.” Kai shrugs away the hand Arthur has laid upon his shoulder.

And Arthur wants to shout at Kai to stop this foolishness; that he loves him, and no one else. But he dare say not a word in case someone should hear. So he goes back to his own pallet, and lies down to sleep.

All will be well.

It’s just this place.

“It’s just this place,” Arthur says, out loud. 

When they have won their fights, all will be well.

Kai makes a hopeless, bitter little sound.

~~

**XVII**

Neither of them sleeps much that night, and in the morning, Kai doesn’t know what to say. Still smarting, he will not risk further discord – further rejection; Arthur just looks sad and weary, and he too keeps silent.

Their food arrives; they take their portions, and sit down to eat, then Benedicta appears outside their cell, with Nestor at her side.

Both Kai and Arthur get to their feet.

Nestor looks down his nose at them. “You still eat like wild animals I see.”

Arthur takes a step forward. “Well, this wild animal got the better of you.” He turns to Benedicta. “What are you doing here? Because if you came looking for me –”

“Rome has bigger concerns than your welfare.” Benedicta rolls her eyes. “You’re just lucky I happened to be here.”

“Lucky? Your definition of the word is strange to me.”

“Oh, come now, Arthur. I want to help you. Rome wants to help you.”

Arthur snorts. “If it weren’t for Rome, this arena wouldn’t be here, nor I in it.” 

Benedicta shakes her head. “You always were pig-headed. I did not build this arena myself. I can hardly be blamed for it.”

“You love Rome and everything it stands for, including these barbaric contests. What more is there to say?”

“Arthur, if you will stop being so ill-tempered, I will use my influence to get you out of here.”

Kai catches his breath.

“Only one thing will influence Ezra,” Arthur says flatly. “Gold.”

“I think you’re wrong. I think my charms might work on him. But if I have to, I will pay a ransom.”

Kai steps up to the bars. “You would pay, to get Arthur out of here?” 

“Of course!”

Arthur looks from Kai to Benedicta. “And at what cost to me?” 

“Well, obviously I would expect you to come back to Rome with me. Then, if you did not like it –”

“Did you hear nothing that I said before you left me, Woman?” Arthur turns, and – with as much dignity as he can muster – shuffles away from the bars. “My home is here. My people need me.”

Kai needs him too – but now is not the time …

Benedicta tosses her hair. “And what good are you doing your people, stuck in here?”

Kai sees in Arthur’s face a kind of wistful sadness: whether for his home and people, or for Benedicta, he cannot tell. Even with these doubts, Kai would not keep him here one moment longer, even if he had to thank this harpy for Arthur’s deliverance. He beckons Arthur over, and in a low voice, says, “You should accept her offer.”

_“What?”_

“I mean it, Arthur. If it gets you out of here, then take it. Please.”

Arthur stares at him in incomprehension. “You _want_ me to go to Rome?”

“From Rome, you can return. Death is another matter. We have been lucky up to now.”

Arthur’s face goes blank. “You think I will lose, tomorrow.”

“I think either one of us might lose. Perhaps one of us will have to.” 

A shadow of fear comes into Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his head; turns back to Benedicta. “Will you ransom Kai as well?”

Benedicta casts a furious look at Kai. She must think he demanded this of Arthur. “Take that Saxon beast back to Rome?”

“That ‘Saxon beast’ is my brother. Kai has no more desire to visit Rome than I, and he has work to do here. Ransom us both. Let Kai return home, and I will come and see what this Rome of yours looks like. But don’t expect me to stay. You and I were finished the moment you left my village.”

Benedicta looks at Kai as though he were the dirt upon her shoe. “And if I refuse?” 

“Then do not bother me again.”

Benedicta looks at them both with new eyes; shakes her head. “Come, Nestor. We have finished here.”

~~

Soon, Abel comes, as usual, to fetch Arthur, leaving Kai alone. 

He paces the cell – as well as he can in shackles: knowing he should not feel relieved that Arthur sent that Roman witch away, but yet he does.

The day drags. Still, the weather has not broken, and Kai’s head throbs. The overpowering stink seems ingrained in his very skin.

The guards are even more surly than usual. Mid-morning, Kai sees a group of them – ten or more, along with the sweepers, the armourer and the building foreman – marching along the corridor in the direction of Ezra’s office. 

“We’re gonna be in trouble.”

“If we stick together, ’e can’t do nothing, can ’e? He’s gotta listen.”

“Yeah, and Max goes too far. We ain’t paid enough for this.”

They carry on complaining, and bolstering each other, as they continue down the passageway.

An hour later, they come back, somewhat pacified, it seems to Kai, but still grumbling amongst themselves. 

“Alright, we got more money. But Maximus is still the boss of us. He’s gonna make life hell now, ain’t he?”

“And we still don’t get no days off. It ain’t fair.”

“Life ain’t fair – or hadn’t you heard?”

~~

The skies stay dark all day; when Kai goes out for exercise it’s almost as oppressive as being in the cell. At last, the sun goes down, casting a ghastly pall of red over everything it touches. 

Arthur would usually be back by now. Has Benedicta stolen him away? 

Barnabas appears, bringing just one piece of bread, one piece of meat, and one apple. 

Kai feels his stomach turn to water. “Um … what about Morgen? Where’s his food?”

“What’s it to you? Not joined at the hip, are you?”

Instead of reaching through the bars, and grabbing Barnabas by the throat, Kai grits his teeth. “No, we’re not. But if I eat it all, and he goes hungry, I could be in trouble.”

“Nah … don’t you worry. He won’t be coming back here tonight.” 

“Why?” Kai breaks out in a sweat. “Did something happen in the stables? An accident?”

Barnabas scratches his belly. “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you? I thought –”

“Never mind what you thought!” Kai slams into the bars, and grips them fiercely.

Barnabas jumps back. “Hey! Keep yer hair on!”

Kai releases his hold, raises his hands, and takes a step back. “Please, Barnabas. Just … tell me he’s alright.”

Barnabas shakes his head. “He’s _fine_. Tonight’s the last night before his tenth fight. Yours, too. Special treatment. Yours ain’t ready yet, that’s all.”

“Special treatment?” Horrible imaginings fill Kai’s mind. “What kind of special treatment?”

“Stop worrying! It’s a good kind of ‘special.’ Just eat your dinner.” Barnabas passes Kai the food, then trundles off, shaking his head. “I dunno. Anyone’d think we was monsters here, or summink.”

Kai sits, wondering what’s happen to Arthur; what is about to be done to _him_. He picks disconsolately at his food. But he must eat, if he’s to fight tomorrow, so he finishes everything, despite the churning in his stomach. 

He wishes he had not asked too much of Arthur last night; wishes they had not parted on such uncertain terms. And what is this ‘special treatment’?

A while later, Abel comes to fetch him. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see!” Abel grins. 

Kai thinks his smile is genuine. “And Morgen – he’s alright, is he?” 

“Oh, he’s fine!” Abel’s smile becomes a frown. “So … you two are mates, are you? ’Cos before, it seemed like –”

“Yes. We are friends. Why? Is there something –”

“No … nothing.” Abel bites his lip, and suddenly becomes interested in a crack in the wall. “Just being nosey, that’s all. Honest.” 

Kai sees he will get no more from him, so he follows on in silence. 

Abel takes him to a smaller cell; the air is fragrant with sweet oils that have been burning here. A bucket of clean water stands steaming in the corner, near a pile of clean cloths. A plate of fruit sits on a table in the corner. A thick pallet, with blankets and a sheepskin laid upon it, waits to welcome him. 

Kai sits down on it. “What’s this all about?”

“Well this might be your last night _here_ , if you know what I mean.” Abel tries to smile, but he looks sad. “And Ezra thinks he should reward anyone who’s won so many fights, so …”

Abel leaves the cell, and beckons to the side. 

A girl appears. Her short blond hair frames a pretty face, with an upturned nose. She wears a white shift, belted, and falling to mid-thigh. 

She steps into the cell, and Abel locks her in with Kai, and hands her some keys. He points at Kai’s shackles. “You don’t have to wear those tonight.”

“Wait –”

“Have a good time!” And with that, Abel departs.

Kai stares at the girl. He has seen her before; sometimes she, and not Aylia, pours the water for the rain showers. 

She kneels on the floor, and unlocks his shackles.

His throat feels tight. “What … is your name?”

“Leonora.” She looks up shyly at him. “And you are Brett.”

“Yes.” Kai cannot think of any more to say. 

Leonora takes one of the cloths, and dips it in the warm water. Then she begins to wash him: his face, his hands and feet. Her touch is kind; respectful. 

It feels so strange, after all that has happened since he was taken prisoner; Kai feels tears prickling his eyes.

When she is done, she asks, “Will you take off your clothes?”

“Why?” 

Straight away, Kai feels foolish.

Leonora laughs, but not unkindly: such a pretty sound. So much time has passed since Kai heard a woman laugh …

“So that I may wash you, and anoint you,” she says. “I have some skill at frictio.”

“And …” Kai swallows: “… what is that?”

“I rub your body with scented oils. It feels nice. And then …”

“And you do this for –?”

“Every man who has defeated nine opponents has a night like this. Tomorrow, either you will go free, or …” She casts her eyes down. “Well, you might die.” She seems genuinely sad. “This is your –”

“And Morgen?”

“Do not worry about Morgen.” Leonora pulls Kai’s tunic off, over his head. “Aylia will take good care of Morgen.”

Kai feels a pang of regret. This will be no reward for either of them. It should be he, taking care of Arthur.

Now Leonora is tugging at his breeches. “Assist me, please.”

These past two weeks or more, Kai has complied with every order given him; he raises himself, so she can get his breeches off.

She looks at him admiringly. Then she washes him with the warm water: all of him. 

It feels good – too good – and very soon, despite himself, Kai stiffens.

Leonora makes no remark upon it; shows no surprise, or disapproval. “Now, you will please lie down.” 

He does as he is bid, and feels her hands, slippery with oil, upon his back and shoulders, rubbing with gentle strokes.

But it is not her hands he wants. He tries to imagine Arthur’s hands upon him instead of hers. But Arthur did not want him. He did not …

Kai sobs, and thrusts against the sheepskin.

Leonora freezes; then she strokes his hair. “Have I done wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s not you …” He buries his face in the soft fleeces. “Please leave me now.”

“Leave you? Why?”

“I cannot do this. I cannot. I … have someone with whom I must keep faith.”

Leonora sits back from him. “She is a lucky woman. But … may I stay a while? Ezra will –”

“Will you be in trouble?” Kai looks up at her.

Leonora wipes a tear from his cheek. “Perhaps …”

“Then stay, of course. Eat some of this fruit if you will – I have no stomach for it.”

So Leonora sits, and eats an apple, and – for her sake – Kai tries to collect himself. 

Her expression pensive, Leonora says, “You are not like other men.”

“Why … do you say that?”

“Most of them fall upon me like ravening wolves.”

Kai feels ashamed for his sex. “I’m sorry for that. This place can turn men into beasts. But you don’t deserve –”

“What is she like, then?” Leonora says. “Your woman?”

Kai heaves a sigh. “She … is beautiful. Her hair is like the raven’s wing. And she is proud and fierce. Her limbs are long and slim, her lips are soft. But she is very hard to please –” Kai swallows around the lump in his throat: “and sometimes she asks more of me than I think I can give, and yet I give it. She makes me better than I am.”

“I envy her.”

“Is there no one for you?”

“My husband died,” she says. “In this arena. Ezra offered me work – I had to take it. I have a young son at home. My mother cares for him. I send her money.”

Kai’s heart breaks for her. He takes her in his arms, and Leonora gives a little sob. They cling to each other for a time; then both brush away their tears, and smile weakly.

“Sleep here a while,” Kai says. “Then we will part, as though …”

“You are so kind.” She sniffs. “Thank you.”

She lies down on the bed, and Kai lies down beside her.

~~

**XVIII**

When Arthur has finished his work with the horses, Barnabas comes to fetch him. But the route he takes Arthur by is unfamiliar. 

Feeling a tingle in his spine, Arthur asks, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see!”

After a few more twists and turns, Barnabas halts before the entrance to a cell Arthur hasn’t seen before. “Go on – in you go!” He gives Arthur a friendly shove.

Arthur goes in, and looks around the small, but comfortably-appointed room. It doesn’t even stink of piss or lions – in fact, the air smells of … cloves, or some other exotic spice. 

“What’s going on? Why have you brought me here?”

“Don’t worry!” Barnabas smirks. “You’re in for a treat.”

“What ‘treat’? What is this?”

“Your reward for getting through nine fights, unbeaten.” Barnabas turns and calls out, “Aylia! Get your skinny arse in here!”  
A pretty girl with long hair – one of the water-girls – comes in. When she sees Arthur, a look of disappointment seems to fleet across her face, but it’s so quick, he can’t be sure. 

“You are Morgen,” she says. “I am here to pass the night with you.”

Arthur frowns. “I have no wish for –”

But she comes straight to him; presses herself against him, wraps her arms around him, and kisses his neck. She smells sweet, like honeysuckle, and it’s so long since Arthur has been touched this way, he feels himself begin to stiffen. 

Disconcerted, he takes her by the upper arms, and holds her away from him.

“Please …” She casts an anxious glance at Barnabas.

Arthur turns to him. “Barnabas – do you mean to watch?” 

Barnabas blushes. “No! Just seeing you was alright. Here. Have at it.” He locks the cell, throws a key through the bars, and bustles off down the passage, muttering to himself.

Aylia takes the key, unlocks the shackles, then remains kneeling at his feet, rubbing his sore ankles, caressing his thigh with her cheek.

Arthur’s pulse quickens. He lays a hand upon her head. He means to ask her to get up off her knees, but somehow, as Aylia starts nuzzling into his groin, the words never leave his lips. Before long, he is harder than he should be, for anyone but Kai.

And Kai, too, has nine victories to his credit.

“What of … Brett?” he gasps.

“Leonora is to serve Brett.”

This time, Arthur knows he hears a hint of regret. It echoes around his head: ‘Leonora is to serve Brett.’

Kai was so much in need last night … Oh! Why did he reject him? 

Imagining Kai, in a cell like this, with a woman, beautiful and willing, Arthur thinks he might run mad. He pulls Aylia to her feet, and shakes her. “What madness is this? Young women, whored to captives, by a slave-master? What is the point of it?”

Aylia flinches. “I do not know! All I know is that I must make you happy.” Her face crumples; tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. “Please … this is my work.”

He has made this poor girl fear him. Arthur curses himself, and Ezra, and Kai too. 

“Sshh, it’s alright.” He strokes her hair back from her face. 

She is beautiful.

Perhaps there’s no more to this than it appears: Ezra has some twisted sense of gratitude, or debt, towards his captives.

How can he blame Kai for taking what he can get, when he, Arthur, refused him?

But he does blame him. 

The thought of Kai, coupling with a whore just like this one – albeit a pretty, wholesome-looking whore … he cannot stand it. And what sickness is this, that thinking of it makes him harder still? He could penetrate the stones of these cell walls; batter them down to get to Kai, and take him. Make him leave that girl alone. Make him … 

He holds Aylia’s face between his hands, kissing her savagely on the mouth.

She whimpers a little.

She wanted Kai: not him. 

Well, they must take what they are given in this hell – so he will take her. Arthur’s lips still locked with Aylia’s, he pulls her towards the pallet.

“Please, why so angry? I will do whatever you want.” 

Arthur takes a few deep breaths, and untangles his hands from Aylia’s hair. “I’m sorry.” He sits down on the pallet, with his head in his hands. “I don’t know … I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Aylia sits beside him, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I think you are just worried. Try to enjoy this night, as I will. Relax. Be at peace. Tomorrow, you will fight, and you will win, I know it. Then, you will be free.”

This woman has no knowledge of his future, but her sweet lies give him comfort. Perhaps he should accept what fate has given him, as Kai, no doubt, will do.

So Arthur turns and kisses her again: gently this time, just feeling her soft lips on his; not thinking about tomorrow; trying to put Kai from his thoughts. But when he comes, he leaves Aylia’s long hair wet with bitter tears. 

~~

In the dead of night, a roll of thunder – loud, right overhead – wakes Arthur, setting his heart hammering. Suddenly cold, he pulls the sheepskin over him, and hears the soft, whispering patter of the rain. Then heavy footsteps in the stone passageway. 

Probably just a regular patrol – nevertheless, Arthur feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

The sound comes closer, then a hulking figure stops outside the bars, silhouetted by the light from the candle in the sconce. 

_Maximus._

“Hey! Slut! Aylia – wake up!” 

The presence of his enemy sets Arthur’s nerves jangling; makes him break out in a sweat. 

Aylia stirs, and rubs her eyes.

What can he want with her? 

She sits up. “Maximus? What is it?”

Arthur knows he can do nothing to protect her – still, he too sits up, gripping the side of the bed with both hands. 

“Shackle the prisoner!”

Aylia slides past Arthur, out of bed. “But it is not yet morning. Ezra said –”

“Never mind him – do as I say!”

She casts about the floor. 

Arthur tries to keep his breathing steady, but his voice sounds shaky when he asks, “What’s going on?” 

“You’ll find out.” 

Shaking her head, Aylia locks the shackles round his ankles. Softly, she says, “Morgen, I’m so sorry.” 

He should have stopped her ...

Maximus unlocks the cell, and comes inside; his looming presence seems to fill all the remaining space.

“Give me the key, and get out.” He jerks a thumb towards the open door.

Aylia glances nervously at Arthur, then at Maximus. “This isn’t what –”

“Go. Home.” 

Maximus shoves Aylia in the back. She stumbles, catches herself, and – with a worried glance behind her – leaves the cell. 

Arthur’s stomach churns, as he listens to her rapidly retreating footsteps. He gets to his feet. “Are you … taking me somewhere?”

“Oh, I’ll be taking you alright. Mister I’m-Too-Valuable-To-Be-Flogged.” 

Nightmare-made-flesh, Maximus pushes Arthur in the chest, knocking him to the ground. 

“Mister I’m-Too-Good-For-A-Bloody-Princess. You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my flesh since you came here. So now, I’m going to be a thorn in yours.” He laughs. “A bloody big thorn.” 

Arthur tries to scramble away. He makes a grab for something – anything – to defend himself. His hand finds something hard and round; he flings the apple at Max’s face. 

Maximus kicks him on the thigh, leaving his left leg in useless agony. 

Arthur flails, scattering fruit about the floor, but managing to grab the metal plate, and as Maximus leans towards him, Arthur hits him with it, hard, edge-on. 

Maximus yelps with pain, then fetches Arthur a heavy blow to the temple. “I’m gonna beat the living shit out of you.” He kicks him in the stomach. “And then, I’m gonna have you.”

More blows rain down from fists and feet, and Arthur can’t fight back. Using his arms to shield his face and head, he curls into a whimpering ball of pain, until Maximus, getting bored of that game, pulls and wrestles him onto his front. 

He tries to kick back with both feet at once, but Max plants one big foot on the shackles. Then he drags Arthur’s breeches down around his knees. 

“Lovely,” Maximus rumbles. “Give it up for your Uncle Max.” 

“No …” Arthur gasps. He reaches towards the pallet, trying to grab onto it, to drag himself away, but he just pulls the bedding to the floor.

Maximus shoves his face into the soft wool of the sheepskin; he can hardly breathe.

“No …” 

He squirms and struggles, as Maximus pulls him this way and that, but Arthur can’t escape.

“No … no … no …” 

With one meaty hand still on the back of Arthur’s neck, pressing his face into the sheepskin, Maximus hauls him to his knees, so that his arse is in the air.

He tries to cry out, but his voice is muffled. Even if it weren’t, who in this place would give a damn?

“No …” he chokes out. “Get off me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Maximus delivers a stinging slap to his naked behind.

Shame overwhelms him. He hears Maximus spit, then feels a big hand part him, and a burning pain, as one of those thick fingers thrusts inside.

“Fuck … Oh fuck … You –”

“You’re the one’s gonna get fucked.” Maximus forces another finger in. “Just have to make a bit more room in that tight little arse of yours.”

Then, as Maximus works his fingers in and out. Arthur feels himself begin to stiffen. 

_No … please God, no._

Through his own sobs, and sounds of pain, Arthur can hear Maximus, taunting: “That’s right, scream for me, you little Celtic whore. Scream nice and loud.” 

Everything seems very far away. 

At last, the horrible invasion ceases. Arthur gives a whimper of relief. But then, he feels something much worse, prodding at him; trying to push inside him.

“No ... please …”

_**“Maximus, you sick fuck. Get off my gladiator!”** _

Maximus goes suddenly still, then lets go of Arthur, as if he were a burning coal. He stands up straight, and quickly puts himself away.

Arthur collapses to the floor. He sees Ezra standing at the bars, with Abel, Barney, and another of the guards. Aylia is there too, her mouth open wide. 

He tugs at his breeches, and struggles to his feet, trying to reclaim some shred of dignity.

But Ezra’s furious gaze is fixed on Maximus. “I’ve told you once, haven’t I? The day you came here, begging for a job? Prisoners are off limits. That’s the first rule – and you swore to stick to it. Or does my memory deceive me?”

Maximus’ eyes dart wildly from Ezra, to Arthur, to Aylia. “Ezra, he wanted it. For his reward.”

A terrible hopelessness comes over Arthur. He murmurs, “I didn’t …” but he knows no one will hear him.

Maximis points at Aylia. “He told _her_. Told her to call me. Begged her, he did!” 

Ezra snorts. “Yeah, and I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

“Tell him, Aylia!”

Aylia drops her gaze, but shakes her head. 

“Ezra, you know what he is – what his sort’s like.” Max gestures at Arthur. “They’ll go with anyone with a big enough –”

“Oi! None of that! There’s a lady present.”

“But look at him!” Maximus points a shaking finger at Arthur’s groin. “He’s got an ’ard-on for me!” 

Sick with shame and fear, Arthur covers himself. Sweat breaks out on his brow.

“I said, enough!” Ezra’s eyes blaze. “We both know that don’t prove nothing, so shut yer lying yap, and get down to my office. Now!” 

Maximus’ fists clench. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“Like that is it?” Ezra says darkly. “Alright. Get ’im out of there, Lads.” 

The three guards, all armed with heavy clubs, hang back.

Maximus curls his lip, and puts his hands on his hips.

Ezra glares at his guards. “You useless bunch of –” He snatches Abel’s club, and swings it, knocking Maximus to the ground. 

Ezra believed him …

“Take that away and lock it up.” Ezra kicks Maximus’ prone body. “Shackles and cuffs. Think you can manage it, now he’s out cold?”

The guards shuffle their feet. Barnabas bleats, “What about when he comes round?”

“Yeah.” Abel sends an apologetic look Arthur’s way. “He’ll be really mad at us, Ezra.”

“You won’t have to worry about that, you bunch of ninnies. Max won’t be in any position to take it out on you, I guarantee it. Now, get those shackles off Morgen, and put ’em on this brute.”

They do as Ezra says, then drag Maximus out.

“And you!” Ezra points a finger at Aylia. “Well done, Girl. Now, take care of Morgen, here.” 

Arthur gets stiffly to his feet.

“Warm water, food, warm mead, anything else he needs. I want him sorted.” Ezra turns to Arthur. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you off tomorrow’s fight – the bills are up, and advance bets have been flooding in, else I would.”

Arthur pulls his clothes straight, and nods briefly. “May I know who I am to fight tomorrow?”

“Sorry.” Ezra drops his gaze. “Wouldn’t be fair.” 

Then he turns and leaves Arthur with Aylia.

~~

Arthur starts to shiver. At least someone came. At least Maximus didn’t … 

He hugs himself tight, and sinks down on the pallet; Aylia sits beside him, and puts an arm around him.

He wants Kai here; more than anything – more than Maximus, dead – he wants Kai with him; Kai’s arms around him, not hers … not Aylia’s. But she is trying to help him; she _has_ helped him; saved him … almost saved him.

‘Anything he needs,’ Ezra said. But Kai, too, must fight tomorrow. Arthur cannot, in all conscience, have him woken, even if it were allowed.

And if Kai knew –

Loosing a cry, Arthur shrugs out of Aylia’s grasp, runs at the wall, and punches it. 

“Morgen, please – don’t harm yourself. Let me help you. Let me tend to you.” 

Arthur swallows; he feels tears well up in his eyes once more, and shuts them tight. He nods. 

Aylia gets up, and opens the cell door.

“Please don’t – don’t leave me.”

Aylia sits back down, and takes his hand. “I’ll only be a short while. Just long enough to heat some water.”

Arthur bites his lip, then nods, and lets her go.

It seems eternity he waits, alone. Aylia has left the door wide open. Arthur knows he should try to escape, but he has neither the weapons, nor the courage. He wishes she had locked it. Open, it is a mouth, calling him ‘coward.’

He lies down, facing the wall, and tries to imagine he is home. But he drifts into some cold place. He is afraid. He hears someone approaching, but he can’t open his eyes. He struggles, his heart races; he feels a hand upon him, and he wakes, and sees Aylia kneeling beside him.

He breathes again. Then he remembers, and he feels something inside him die … again. He turns away, ashamed of what she saw. He wishes he could wipe it from her mind – and his. 

“Please, Morgen – let us help you.”

He sighs, and sits up. Aylia has company; Leonora too, is witness to this humiliation.

Perhaps Kai had finished with her; Arthur no longer even cares what Kai did with her. 

He can’t feel anything. 

Leonora yawns, and covers her mouth. She offers him a plate of meat and bread, and a mug of something that smells strange.

He pushes the food away, but drinks the potion: warm mead, with some herbs mixed in, he thinks. It makes his head feel muzzy.

They have brought ice for the bruises; warm water to clean his wounds. He covers his face, and lets them tend him like a child. He has no pride left. 

When they have done with him, he lies down, with his back against the wall.

He feels his eyes begin to close. “Will one of you keep watch? While I sleep?”

“Of course,” Leonora says. “I will stand by the door. Aylia will sit with you.”

He should feel shame, having women watch over him; but here, they have more power than he. Aylia has already saved him once. Almost saved him … It could have been much worse.

Even now, she is holding his hand.

He drifts off to sleep.

When he awakes, it is full day, and Leonora is the one holding his hand, while Aylia stands by the door.

Last night … he pushes it away.

He takes his hand from Leonora’s, and gets to his feet: feeling sore and stiff. Formally, he turns to each of them in turn. “Thank you. For everything. Fetching Ezra. Staying here with me – you must be tired. I’m sorry for your trouble.”

“It was no trouble.” Leonora reaches out to stroke his arm, but now he flinches from her touch.

“Yes, and today, all are happy,” Aylia tells him. “Everyone hates Maximus. And now …”

“Now?” Arthur says warily.

“You will see.” There is no humour in Aylia’s smile, but only teeth.

~~

**XIX**

When Kai awakes, he finds himself alone. He looks around for Leonora, then he remembers: in the small hours, Aylia came to fetch her, and he fell back to sleep.

He wonders what she was needed for.

He wonders what today will bring. His last fight … so he hopes. But what if – as he’s coming to expect – he goes out into the arena, and finds Arthur waiting to fight him?

Kai doesn’t want to stay here, but he came to the decision long ago, that if he ever had to fight Arthur, he would let him win. 

Arthur won’t like it; he never did when they were young, and now he is even more prideful. But Kai can’t bear to think of Arthur spending one more day in this stinking hole. He must get out, while there is something left of him to save – even if it means that Kai can never leave.

But when, as he is being taken to his fight cell, he sees Arthur coming towards him, Kai’s plan collapses like a house of straw.

Arthur looks … like a shadow – like he couldn’t win a fight with Leonora – while he, Kai, feels ready to face anyone. If Arthur wins, it will be obvious that Kai has thrown the fight. 

What would Ezra do then? He’d have to call the contest void. He might have them both flogged, make them start all over again from scratch; he might even make Arthur murder him, to pacify the mob. 

As Kai ponders these dire possibilities, Arthur comes abreast, and turns a resentful countenance upon him. “You’re looking well. You must have enjoyed Leonora.”

A punch in the face would have hurt less. 

“I refused her.”

The dismay on Arthur’s face tells Kai more than he wants to know. His fists clench. 

Barnabas holds him back. “Steady now, Lads! Save it for the arena.”

Kai blinks. So – they _are_ to fight each other. 

“Kai …” Arthur calls after him, as they are led away. “I’m sorry.”

~~

Alone in his fight cell, Kai paces angrily. To be treated with such contempt! That Arthur could reject him with such coldness, and then betray him with Aylia!

Kai stops in his tracks. There must be more to this than he can fathom. Arthur did not look like a man whose needs had just been satisfied. He looked tired and broken. How did he get those bruises? And why was he limping? Surely Aylia would not have fought him, much less hurt him? 

Kai takes a few deep breaths, letting his anger dissipate. He needs to have it out with Arthur, but he can’t – and he will need to keep a cool head out there. For now, he must just concentrate on tactics. What can he do, to get both of them out of this, alive?

He sits and works his way through his bread and cheese. Ripping into the hard bread calms him.

He can see his axe waiting for him, and a shield as well. He takes up his weapon, reacquainting himself with the familiar bindings on the haft, and hugging it to his chest – though with great care. He asked John the Blacksmith to make sure the blade was keen, and John has done so.

Now, Kai wishes John had been less diligent.

He looks out through the bars. He can see Arthur, staring blankly from a cell across the arena.

Their gazes lock. Arthur looks stricken. He shuts his eyes, sinks to his knees, and stays there: his head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him. 

Kai heaves a sigh. He shakes his head, and murmurs: “No, Arthur. Don’t abase yourself.” 

Arthur cannot hear him; he gets to his feet, but keeps his eyes lowered, as if he dares not even look at Kai, fearing what he might see.

Then the bell rings, signalling the start of the proceedings. Ezra comes forward from his seat.

“Well, we’ve got an exciting slate for you today, including the fight you’ve all been waiting for. But first – an unscheduled addition to the entertainment. And I have Maximus to thank for giving me the excuse for this. Because I’ve heard that it’s good practice to have your second-in-command well flogged every now and then, ‘pour encourager les autres’, as they say in Gaul. So – Maximus! Let’s be having you!”

Kai gapes to see Maximus led out: his feet shackled, his hands roped together in front of him. Confused, and battered, Maximus looks around the arena with narrowed eyes, as if unsure of where he is, or whether this is real.

He doesn’t even struggle, as they secure him to the flogging post. 

And now, Kai sees Arthur’s gaze drawn to Maximus: a look of fear, quickly replaced by savage satisfaction. 

“And to administer the flogging – John! The Man Mountain! Don’t say I never give you lot any poetic justice!”

John comes out into the Arena, with the same whip in his hand that Maximus used on him. He looks towards the podium. “How many, Ezra?”

“I _will_ have discipline,” Ezra says coldly. “One. Hundred.”

John’s jaw drops; a gasp travels round the arena.

“Don’t worry. You don’t need to save your strength. If your arm gets tired, I’ll pick some other worthy soul to take over. I’m sure I’ll find plenty waiting in line.”

John nods, takes a deep breath, and draws back his arm.

~~

John has taken Ezra’s instruction, not to save his strength, to heart. After the first ten, blood runs in rivulets down Maximus’ back. 

At the beginning, Maximus’ cries of pain are louder than the voices of the crowd, counting the blows. After twenty, his voice becomes more ragged. After thirty, his voice is a bare whimper, and his back hangs in bloody ribbons. 

Slick with sweat, John goes to work on Maximus’ legs and buttocks.

Maximus starts to sob.

Gripping the bars, Arthur watches every stroke … and he enjoys it. The suffering of his enemy makes him hard. He envies John this duty – wishes Ezra had let him wield the whip himself – that’s what this place has done to him. It makes him sick.

And when he remembers how unjustly he behaved towards Kai over these past few days: the worst, this very morning; how, on what might have been the last night they would spend together on this earth, he hurt him; how, last night, he betrayed Kai with Aylia, and shamed himself with Maximus – then he wishes it were he that hung from the whipping post, and Kai that held the whip, to punish him for what he’s done … what he will try to do. 

For he _must_ win today; he must get out, before this place crushes what little is left of him.

At fifty, John’s right arm begins to sag; nothing of Maximus can be seen, that is not raw and bleeding.

Ezra holds up a hand. “Cut him down, and turn him around.”

Two of the guards come out and cut the cords, and Maximus falls backwards onto the sand. He gives a horrible cry, twitching, trying to roll over. They turn him on his front. Arthur notes, without a trace of sympathy, the sand coating Maximus’ back; it must be agony. It takes four men to get Maximus up, and secure him to the crossbeams once again.

“Give him some water. We don’t want him passing out.”

One of them brings a cup of water, and puts it to Maximus’ lips. He takes a few sips, before the guard throws the rest in his face.

“Alright, alright. You four –” Ezra points at them. “Ten each. Give the Man Mountain a break, then he can do the last ten.”

The four men take their turn – each one less enthusiastic than the last. No one liked Maximus, but this …

Arthur makes himself watch, till the last stroke falls.

~~

John’s work is done. “Cut him down, Ezra?” 

“No.” Ezra’s face is stony. “Leave him there.”

Maximus moans. His head lolls on his neck. 

A hundred lashes … 

Kai has watched Arthur through the whole proceedings, and he knows … Maximus has committed some grave wrong against Arthur. A hundred bleak and sordid pictures fill Kai’s head. He grips his axe, and tries to calm himself.

Still, Arthur will not look at him. 

Some four or five fights follow: none of them fatal. Kai doesn’t want to see men die, but for each one who lives to fight again, his and Arthur’s chances must diminish. Kai clings to the hope that Maximus has shed enough blood for one day.

Sometimes, Maximus looks up and stares around him; sometimes he gives a piteous cry; mostly, he stays silent. The combatants try to keep their battles to the other end of the arena; none of them wants to see the bloody puppet hanging there. 

At last, Ezra announces a break in the fighting. Food vendors do the rounds; some acrobats perform; minstrels sing songs of love, and death, and a great battle between a Saxon and a Celt. 

Then Ezra rings the bell, as loud as he ever has. “And now! The fight you’ve all been waiting for!”

“Hey! Get ready!” Barnabas calls from the opposite end of the cell. “You’re up next!”

“What? Our fight is the one they’ve all been waiting for?” 

“Of course! You’re famous.”

Kai snorts, takes up his axe, goes to the arena-side bars, and listens.

“We have some real celebrities here today. Not only has the Princess Benedicta graced us with her presence once again –” Ezra makes a sweeping bow towards Benedicta, seated on the podium. “But for our main fight, we have two men whose names are known, both far and wide.”

He pauses, and looks around at the crowd.

“You’ve come to know them as ‘Morgen’ and ‘Brett.’ But those of you who’ve seen the bills will have some idea of who they really are, and I can now reveal their true identities. Yes, we’ve had some famous warriors in this ring before, but none so famed as … Arthur of the West, the leader of the Celts – The Bear!”

So: Ezra knows. It can’t have been that hard to work it out. Both he and Arthur have slipped up more than once, and Benedicta surely confirmed what Ezra thought he knew.

The bars on Arthur’s cell are raised, and Arthur takes a few reluctant steps out into the arena: sword in one hand, shield in the other.

“And facing him in combat – not for the first time, if the songs and tales are true – is his lieutenant, Kai, the Saxon – known to his enemies as ‘the Butcher’!”

Kai steps out into the arena.

“I don’t need to remind you that this will be the tenth fight for both of these fine warriors. At the end of it, one of them will go free. The other –”

Benedicta whispers something in Ezra’s ear.

Ezra frowns, then bites his lower lip. “Well, who knows?” He drops his hand. “Let combat begin!”

~~

**XX**

At last, Arthur meets Kai’s gaze, but still, he seems deferential; almost afraid.

Kai shakes his head, trying to let him know, nothing is broken that can’t be later mended; that he needs no apology from Arthur.

Arthur sniffs, and seems to rally.

Then Kai hefts his axe, and nods. They must begin.

Kai starts off with a practice-ground attack, such as they use to teach young warriors. He puts enough force into the moves, to make it look more real.

Arthur responds the way he has a hundred times, but when their weapons clash together, Arthur’s arm is weak; he holds his shield too low; he looks so tired.

“Come on, Arthur,” Kai says quietly.

Arthur shifts his grip, loosens his wrist, and starts a set of moves that’s meant to end with Kai disarmed, and the point of Arthur’s sword at his throat.

But Arthur fights so poorly – Kai can’t lose his axe, and make the loss seem genuine. And anyway, for his new plan to work, he has to trust in Ezra’s liking for him … and he must beat Arthur.

Kai starts to put more speed and power into his moves.

Arthur looks confused, then angry; fights more fiercely, though his swings are wild.

“That’s better.” Kai lets his shield glance against Arthur’s. 

Arthur staggers back. His eyes widen. “What are you doing?” 

“Trying to beat you, without hurting you.” Kai slices at the air, just to the left of Arthur’s head.

“Kai – please … I must get out of here. You should have been disarmed.” 

“You were too weak.”

Kai leaps forward, attacking with shield and axe haft, pressing Arthur up against the arena wall. Low and urgent he says, “I would have let you win – but look at you. No one would believe it.”

Arthur’s eyes blaze. “Are you saying I can’t take you, any time I want?” 

“I am … not saying that.” Kai lets Arthur shove him back. “But I’ve a plan to get both of us out of here. To do it, I must win.”

“Why you?” Arthur’s voice quavers. 

Kai lays a blow on Arthur’s shield, and Arthur nearly crumples.

“That’s why.”

Arthur looks green. “Then let us make it a convincing victory.”

~~

That won’t be difficult. Kai could beat him in the time it takes to swing his axe just once. From the beginning, Kai has been trying to spare his pride, by making this look harder than it is, and Arthur knows it.

He could make Kai kill him – then both of them would be free: Kai, of this place, and he, of this awful taint. But that would destroy Kai too. Arthur still clings to the faint hope that even though he’s been defiled, Kai would not want to live without him. So he falls back, letting Kai drive him to his knees, and knock his sword out of his grasp.

Kai stands over him, his axe raised, as if to strike, and Arthur bares his neck and looks into Kai’s eyes, giving him leave to kill him, if he will. 

A murmur starts up: “Die … Die … Die …” 

Dismay upon his face, Kai shakes his head, and looks anxiously towards the podium. The mob wants still more blood, and Ezra might just give it to them. 

The murmur becomes a chant: “Die! Die! Die!”

Kai sets his jaw, holds his axe in front of him, and turns full-circle, as if to take on every man who dares open his mouth to say that word, and strike them dead with his own hands.

Arthur has never loved him more.

~~

After what seems eternity, Ezra rings the bell.

“A victory for Kai, the Saxon who rides with Arthur!” He looks around the arena. “Well … used to …”

A ripple of amusement runs around, against the calls for death. 

“Not sure Arthur’ll still want to ‘ride’ with him, after the thrashing Kai’s just given him.”

This time, the laughter drowns out the sound of those who want Arthur slaughtered in cold blood.

“It’ll be a shame to lose Kai, but he’s won his ten fights, fair and square. He’ll just have to ‘ride’ on his own, for now, while Arthur stays, to fight again.”

Kai feels relief surge through him. 

“So, let’s give them both a rousing –”

“Wait!” Kai holds up a hand.

The crowd goes quiet; expectant.

“If you know who I am, you know I won’t leave Arthur here, alone.” Kai holds his head up. “We leave together, or not all.”

“Is that right?” Ezra strokes his chin.

“I will do anything to win his freedom.”

Arthur stares at Kai. “This is your plan?” 

Ezra cocks his head. “Why’s that, then?”

“We are as brothers.” 

“‘Brothers,’ eh? Well, I had a brother once, but I don’t care too much for family. If that’s all he is to you –”

“No!” Kai stands tall. “He is more. He is my heart, my lifeblood.”

In a level tone, Ezra suggests: “You love him.”

Heart in his mouth, Kai takes the biggest gamble of his life. “Yes. I love him.” 

Arthur stares at him, his face unreadable.

Kai offers his hand, and Arthur lets Kai pull him to his feet.

Whistles and cat-calls start up all around the arena; Arthur pulls his hand away, and stands alone, then Ezra rings the bell, till silence falls.

“At last,” Ezra says. “An honest man. You say you’ll do ‘anything’, eh?” He rubs his hands together. “What price should I extract from you, I wonder?” 

“Let me fight for Arthur’s freedom. Three more opponents, of your choosing – now, today. You will make more money from the betting, either on single fights, or combinations. If I win all three fights, then both of us go free.”

“Have you gone mad?” Arthur says quietly.

“Have you so little confidence in me?” 

“Tempting!” Ezra sticks his thumbs in his belt. “And if you lose?” 

Benedicta whispers in his ear again; Ezra’s eyes go wide and hungry, and a bit afraid.

“Well, well! It seems the Princess Benedicta has an interest here. She’s made me a very attractive offer for Arthur of the West – an offer I can’t easily refuse. So here’s the deal, Kai, if you want it. You win all three fights – both of you go free. You lose just one, and you, Kai, stay here, on the usual terms – ten victories, then out. And Princess Benedicta takes Arthur back to Rome.”

Arthur grips Kai’s arm. “Refuse these terms! Don’t risk yourself again. Just take your wins, and go. Let Benedicta have what little there is left of me.”

Kai thinks his world is ending. “You want to go with her? With Benedicta?”

“What’s the alternative? To have you fight for me, like some damsel in distress? Where is the dignity in that?”

“You think you will have dignity in Rome?” Visions fill Kai’s head, of Arthur, dragged through the streets of Rome, in chains. 

Arthur swallows. “Perhaps. She loved me, once. Maybe, still does. She will not –” 

“You want me to believe you’d rather go with her, than have me fight to win your freedom?” Kai can’t believe it; doesn’t want to hear it.

“Yes …” 

“You would go with her to Rome? Forever? As her captive?”

“Yes.” Arthur’s eyes are empty of light … of hope. “Do not fight for me. I would rather go with her to Rome.”

He’s lying. Kai will bet his life on it.

“Too bad for you,” Kai says. “You belong to no one – not to me, and not to Benedicta. When I have won your right to choose, you can still go to Rome, if that is what you want. But I will win your freedom.” He turns to Ezra. “I accept your terms.”

Ezra looks … relieved. “Good man. Now go and take a break. Keep your axe – unless you’d prefer something else?”

“Perhaps a short sword, also?” Kai hardly dares to hope. “I’ll take whatever weapon you think I need.”

“Well, as you put it like that …” Ezra inclines his head. “Of course. Now I’d better go and sort out some opponents for you.”

Once more, Benedicta whispers something to him, and this time, he grins.

Kai doesn’t look at Arthur; he just goes back to his cell. If Arthur truly wants to go to Rome with Benedicta – well, he doesn’t want to know. 

~~

**XXI**

Kai takes a piss in the bucket in the corner, has a long drink of water, then lies down on his back, to rest a while.

The noise of the crowd drifts into the cell, around and through him; he feels at peace. His moment has arrived.

After a while, Aylia brings a plate of meat, and bread, and fruit. Kai points at what he wants: a chicken leg, an apple, and a pear. As she passes the last item through the bars, he grips her arm, and looks her in the eye. 

“Last night, you were with Arthur? The one you know as Morgen?” 

“Morgen …” Aylia’s face goes pale. “I did the best I could.”

“I’m sure you did. Tell me what happened.”

“Maximus …” Aylia bites her lip. “I cannot speak of it.” She shakes her head, pulls free of Kai, and hurries off.

Gritting his teeth, Kai sits tearing chicken off the bone. His heart is full of rage, but that’s just something he must use. Maximus hangs dying from the whipping post. What more is there to do, but beat the opponents Ezra puts in front of him, and get Arthur away from here? 

“Sorry about that.” Ezra is at the bars. He scuffs his sandal on the stone. 

“About what, in particular?” 

“Letting that Roman bint put a price on Morgen’s … Arthur’s head. I shouldn’t have done that. ’specially after what happened.”

“What?” Kai looks intently at him. “What happened? Tell me.”

“Maximus, ‘happened.’” Ezra can’t quite meet Kai’s gaze. “I thought he was …” He shakes his head. “Shouldn’t have trusted him. Aylia came and fetched me, right away. Your bloke put up a fight, so I don’t think it had … gone very far.”

If Ezra had not taken them … 

But Kai still needs their captor on his side, so he bottles up his anger. Ezra did not mean for this to happen.

“I know,” Ezra says frankly. “This is down to me, in the end.”

Kai nods. He doesn’t look at Ezra.

“And I wish I hadn’t taken up that snooty bitch’s offer, but it’s just … someone offers me money, I can’t refuse.” Ezra passes a hand across his forehead. “It’s like a sickness.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Kai lifts his chin. “Because I’m going to win.”

“Good on you, Old Son. I hope you do.”

“Then why –”

“All part of the game, innit?” Ezra sniffs.

“Is that why you tormented Brynn as you did? ‘Part of the game’?”

Ezra’s face darkens; Kai wonders whether he has gone too far.

Then Ezra says, “He denied him. I knew about him and Gavyn, soon as I clapped eyes on ’em, but he denied him. To the last – even to the death. It just … got under my skin, that was all.” He wipes a hand over his mouth. “I mean, I’m a reasonable man, ain’t I? I’ve treated you fair?”

With a slight frown, Kai says, “You captured us, and made us fight for our lives.”

“Yeah, yeah. But, apart from that. You’ve been fed. You ain’t been beaten for no reason. The place ain’t full of rats. I ain’t lied to you.”

Kai shrugs acknowledgement.

“All he’d have had to have done, is to say to me, ‘Look, Ezra. Don’t make me fight Gavyn – he’s me best mate.’ You two could of done the same. Too stubborn. Too untrusting.” Ezra lays a hand over his heart. “That hurts me, it does.”

Kai laughs, incredulous. “Ezra, you take the power of life and death over a man … you can’t expect him to trust you, just like that.”

Ezra scratches the back of his neck. “Ever feel like you’re in the wrong job? You know … like, somewhere along the line, you took a wrong turn?”

“No, never. I fight beside Arthur, to defend our people. But if you feel that way … haven’t you enough gold yet, to buy that villa of which you spoke?”

“A little one, I s’pose.” Ezra sighs. “Tell you the truth, I’m fed up of this lark. I love the gambling side of it – don’t get me wrong – but the stress … getting too old for it, know what I mean? And last night … well, that kind of thing’s starting to make me cynical. And I don’t wanna be cynical in my old age.”

Kai isn’t sure what to say to this, so he just holds his tongue, and tries to look like he understands.

“Oh – here’s the sword you asked for.” Ezra passes Kai a short sword, hilt-first.

Kai removes it from its sheath; it’s a fine blade, sharp as an eagle’s eye. He nods his thanks, and buckles it on. 

Ezra looks as though there’s more he wants to say, but then he shakes his head at himself. “Well, I’d best get off. Find you someone to slaughter, eh?” He chuckles. “Best of luck.”

Then Ezra puts his hand through the bars, for Kai to shake.

Kai stares at it. He could pull Ezra’s arm through – take his keys from his belt at sword-point; and he sees that Ezra knows this. 

So, one gambler to another, Kai shakes Ezra’s hand, and Ezra’s face cracks open in a grin.

~~

A short while later, Abel appears, and takes Kai to the stables. He lets Kai into one of the high cells, where a stocky black gelding frets and stamps. 

Abel’s eyes flick anxiously from the horse, to Kai, to the arena bars. “Look after ’im, won’t you?”

“Of course.” 

“Only … there’s gonna be … oh, I’d better not say.” Abel hurries off.

Kai frowns. What’s Abel so worried about? He tries to calm the horse as best he can, but they don’t have time to get acquainted. The bars are already opening. Kai throws himself into the saddle, and grabs a spear from the rack in the corner.

But when the bars are high enough for the horse to get out, it just stays stock still. 

“Come on, Boy.” Kai pats its neck, then kicks. “Ger!”

The horse bolts out, and comes to a sliding halt in the middle of the arena, sending sand spraying up. Then it rears; Kai keeps his seat.

“How’s that for an entrance!” Ezra raises his hands – the crowd applauds. “Alright then, Kai the Saxon. This is a bit different. You don’t have to kill your opponents – in fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t. You just have to survive until the sand has run through to the bottom.” He points to an object made of wood and glass – two bulbs, one above the other: the bottom one, full of sand – then turns the elegant thing over.

Kai sees the sand start to run from the top bulb to the bottom, through a narrow neck. “Survive?” 

A grating rises at the wide end of the arena. First one lion slinks out, then another, then a third.

The horse snorts, and takes a side-step.

Kai sets his jaw. Survive. That shouldn’t be too hard. Surely a horse can outrun a lion … 

But can it outrun three?

The sandy-coloured creatures skulk warily along the walls, one on one side, two on the other, till they come level with him. One makes a run at him. 

Kai clings on, as the horse takes off in fright, and gallops towards the end from which the lions first emerged. 

The lion breaks off its pursuit, calmly crosses the arena, and takes a position on the other side. Then all three lie down at once, flat to the ground, as if they have rehearsed. 

Kai manages to get the horse settled, then glances at the time-glass. Only about a third of the sand has yet run through. 

The lion that was left on its own starts slinking towards him, and the horse takes off again, this time in the direction of the narrow end, where Maximus still hangs, all but forgotten. 

Now the beasts start drawing in, each one advancing in its turn: trying to herd Kai and his horse further into the trap.

Kai hefts his spear; all three back off a little way. With just a single spear, and lots of luck, he might kill or injure one of them, but that would still leave two to deal with, and the creatures keep so low to the ground, he may not reach them with his axe or sword.

The lion nearest to him is also furthest from the others. If he could just get close enough to kill it, without letting go the spear … But no amount of cajoling will persuade his horse to approach it. 

Then, without appearing to communicate, two of them come for him at once, one from each side.

“Gah!” Kai sends his horse flying through the shrinking gap between them, back towards the wide end of the arena. 

All three follow, leisurely and confident.

The horse turns, and stands quivering, its ears flat to its head.

A breeze whips up, drawing the beasts’ attention to the whipping post; towards the smell of blood, but Kai’s horse snorts, winning their interest back, and now the lions all start closing in together. One manages to get behind him, and leaps at his horse’s rear. The horse kicks out, sending the lion flying, as the other two move in.

Kai kicks, and yells, and drives his horse towards the whipping post.

Maximus’ eyes fly open in his bloodstained face. 

Kai swings his axe. Maximus’ jaw sags; his head wobbles, and then falls with a wet thump, rolling and bouncing on the sand, and the lions chase after it, batting it here and there.

Sounds of excitement and disgust spill from the crowd. 

Kai drags the horse to a halt behind the post, and swings twice more, cutting the ropes that bind the dead man’s arms. The body flops down on the sand; the lions gather round it, open up the belly with their teeth and claws, and then start fighting over what slops out, and though the sand is just three-quarters through the glass, Ezra gets to his feet, raises a hand in salute, then rings the bell. 

“One out of three!”

~~

When he sees Maximus’ head roll on the sand, Arthur sits down on the bench, and weeps. 

~~

**XXII**

Abel slaps Kai on the back, kisses the horse’s nose, then bustles about, taking off the horse’s tack. “I ain’t sorry to see the end of Max – the miserable sod.”

“Why’s that?” 

“Oh … well ...” Abel pulls the saddle off the horse’s back. “He threatened to flog me the other day, for one little mistake. Your mate, ’an all.”

“Did he?” Kai wishes the dead could feel his wrath.

“And … er … I s’pose you know about last night.”

Kai clenches his jaw. “Ezra told me.” 

“Wasn’t the first time, neither.” Abel starts brushing the horse down, trying to avoid looking at Kai. “No one was safe with him around.”

Kai puts a hand on his shoulder. “Well, you’re safe now.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Providing you keep on Ezra’s good side.”

Abel looks up and grins. “I can do that.” 

Barnabas arrives. “Come on!”

As Kai follows down the passageway, Abel calls out, “Good luck with the next two. Morgen’s done alright by me. I wouldn’t like to see … well, you know.”

Kai knows, well enough.

Back in the smaller cell, he takes a few more mouthfuls of food, drinks deeply, and dips a cloth into the water jug, to cool his forehead.

He checks his axe: still sharp. John did him proud, and – when he goes forth, and hears the name of his opponent – Kai is glad of it.

Karn swaggers out into the ring. This place seems to agree with him. He looks calm; confident: like he is glad to be here, with nothing to do, but prove himself against the world.

Kai gets himself set. He wants to wipe that smile off Karn’s indolent face – but he will have to take great care with this one. Even with just a short sword and a shield, Karn will be tricky. 

“Your master couldn’t beat me on his own,” Karn says, as he approaches. “You think you can do better?”

“But he did beat you – twice!”

“He cheated.” Karn’s eyes spark with anger. “Both times, Arthur –” Karn makes a lunge.

Kai sidesteps, knocking Karn’s blade aside.

“And flicking mud in a man’s eye – that is not cheating?” Kai settles himself once more, into a fighting stance.

“Gamesmanship.”

“You think this is a game?” Kai takes a pace back, giving himself time. “Games be damned!” Swinging his axe, he rushes Karn. 

Karn just raises his shield, fends off the blow, and pushes Kai away.

They spend some moments testing each other out, and Kai blocks Karn’s attacks with ease, but he suffers the same problem as Arthur. Karn strikes like a snake, and if Kai were to draw back his arm at close quarters – close enough to strike a death blow – Karn would have him on a plate. 

And try as he might to hold his ground, little by little, Karn starts to push him back. Before long, Kai finds Karn dictating every move he makes, and suddenly, Kai feels tired; more tired than ever before. Tired of fighting; tired of the noise of the crowd; tired of the sand and blood and misery. His right shoulder aches, his axe feels heavy in his hand, and soon –

“Kai!”

Arthur’s yell jolts him back. He can’t afford to let this slip; he’s fighting Karn for Arthur’s life, as Arthur once fought Karn, on his account. Arthur did not give up. Arthur beat Karn …

With his left hand, Kai whips the short sword from its sheath, and feints left. 

Karn falls back. 

Kai changes axe to left hand, sword to right, and throws his axe straight at Karn’s head. Karn has to raise his shield. 

His enemy unsighted, Kai stabs his short sword up beneath Karn’s ribs.

Karn gasps, and drops his sword; he falls to his knees. His eyes roll back.

He murmurs, “I was the finest.” Then he lands, face-first, in the sand.

Kai looks down at him. “You weren’t even close.” 

~~

Arthur tries to look proud, and grateful. That’s what he ought to feel, and somewhere, deep inside, he knows, he does.

But when he saw Karn fall, he felt … nothing.

Last night … it fills his thoughts.

Perhaps he deserved it; perhaps the gods wanted to punish him for … Aylia.

Kai must never think Arthur’s heart belongs to anyone but him.

But last night, Arthur was robbed of something – he does not know what: only that he must get it back, if he’s to be worthy of the blood and tears that Kai has spilt for him.

~~

What happened to him out there? He felt so tired, he nearly threw the fight away. Kai eats an apple and some meat, and drinks more water; throws the rest over his head. He slaps his arms and chest and thighs, and then his cheeks.

One more to go; one fight to win their freedom.

This time he will stay sharp.

~~

As Nestor comes out, armed with his long sword, and a round shield, a chorus of boos greets him.

Kai weighs up his chances. Well, the crowd is on his side, for what that’s worth. They’re both professional soldiers, but the Roman may not have fought against the axe. And Nestor’s had no fights today – he’s fresh, but not warmed up – and just two days ago, he lost his only fight in this arena.

Kai should win this fight. He must.

The bell rings.

They exchange a few blows.

Though Kai has longer arms, Nestor’s long sword gives him the greater reach. Nestor doesn’t have Karn’s speed, but he’s more cautious; Kai can’t yet see a way past his defence.

“You must have angered your Princess.” Kai takes a swing at Nestor’s flank. 

Nestor’s sword clangs against Kai’s axe; deflects it. “Why’s that?” 

“She made you fight Arthur … and me. That wasn’t kind of her. I think she wants you dead.”

“I wanted this.” A shadow crosses Nestor’s face. His shield arm drops a little. “She offered me the chance to fight you, and regain my honour.”

“Gain your death, more like.” Kai swings his axe high. 

Nestor just gets his shield up. “It is my duty and my pleasure to fight for her.”

“Fight for her, eh? Perhaps you want to fuck her, too.”

Nestor snarls; his blade moves quickly, nicking Kai’s arm. Before Kai can counter-strike, Nestor steps back, nodding. “Maybe not. But when she tires of her new pet, the leader of the Celts can spend the few days he has left, sucking my cock and balls, and those of all my men.”

He’s voiced one of Kai’s fears. Kai sees red, attacking like a madman, but he can’t break through. 

That’s not the way. 

His chest heaving, he falls back, and lets his axe-head drop.

Thinking he’s seen an opening, Nestor makes a charge.

Kai sidesteps, catches the Roman’s blade in the angle between his axe head and the haft, and twists.

The sword jerks out of Nestor’s grip, to land just out of reach. He makes a run for it; Kai blocks him off, forcing him back.

Nestor grimaces, and draws his short sword.

Kai laughs wildly, lays three blows on Nestor’s shield, then with a ferocious swing, knocks Nestor’s sword arm to the side, and sweeps his axe back, low.

A look of surprise fleets across Nestor’s face. He jerks; throws out his arms.

Kai nudges Nestor with his shield. “Now you’ll be the right height for sucking cock.” 

Nestor feebly waves his sword in Kai’s direction, then topples onto his side, leaving his feet and ankles standing upright on the sand. He stares at them; his eyes widen, and he starts to scream.

Kai hears the bell, then a rumbling from high on the west side of the stadium, and then the roar and crash of falling stone. Spectators start to scream, and push and shove, past, and over each other, trying to reach the lower tiers.

Ezra rings the bell again, much louder, bellowing, “Alright people! No need to panic. Leave the stadium in an orderly fashion please. Keep your tokens, and you can collect your winnings next time.”

Kai sees Benedicta shouting in Ezra’s ear, pointing at Nestor. Ezra makes calming movements, and has a word with a red tunic, who hurries off. A short while later, sweepers come out, bearing a sheet, tied between two poles. They lay Nestor on the sheet, and bear him out – still alive, but silent, shaking, staring into space. 

Kai looks towards the podium, but Ezra’s too busy directing his employees here and there, to pay him any mind.

He approaches Arthur’s cell, but finds it empty. Seemingly forgotten, Kai trails out, axe in hand, and meets Arthur in the corridor, unguarded and unshackled.

While Kai silently thanks the gods, Arthur offers Kai his hand.

Kai shakes it. “Arthur.”

“Kai. You … have my congratulations, and my thanks.”

“So … you’re not angry with me?”

“Angry?” Arthur blinks. “No. Why would I be angry? What right have I –”

“Because I fought, when you commanded me not to … Because I told an arena full of people that I loved you … Because of a thousand other things I have done wrong, these past few days –”

“No, Kai. I thank you – for everything. If only … if only …” 

Suddenly Arthur can’t get his breath, and tears spring to his eyes. “If only I was worthy.” 

Kai lifts Arthur’s chin and looks into his eyes. “I have forgiven you for Aylia.” He wipes away a tear from Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur closes his eyes, and takes a breath, and Kai throws an arm around his shoulders. “Now we must go to Ezra, and reclaim your sword.”

“Must we?”

Kai grips him harder. “Buck up, Little Brother. We’ll soon be going home.”

~~

**XXIII**

Ezra spots them outside his office door, briskly dismisses a man in a red tunic, and makes an expansive gesture, welcoming them inside. “Come in, My Friends.”

Arthur and Kai exchange a glance.

“Oh, come on now – no hard feelings, eh? You’ll both be out of here before you know it. Shake hands with Ezra, won’t you?”

Kai takes Ezra’s hand in both of his, and shakes it. 

After a moment, Arthur reluctantly offers his hand. “You look absurdly happy, Ezra.”

“Why shouldn’t I be happy?”

“Your arena is falling down.”

“Nah …west façade’s always been dodgy.” Ezra waves a hand. “And if you wanna know why I’m smiling – had a side bet with ’er gracious majesty, di’n’t I?” He rubs his hands together. “You did me proud, Kai, Old Son.”

“You had a bet on me?”

“’Course. You’re the best I’ve seen – both of you, in fact. That fight between you was a bit of a damp squib, but that … wasn’t your fault.”

Arthur sways slightly on his feet, and Kai steadies him, with a hand on his back.

“What was it with you and that Roman bint anyway?” Ezra scratches his belly. “She seemed mighty keen to get ’er claws into you. And that was before Kai cut her centurion down to size. You shoulda seen the pot of gold she offered me for the pair of you, after that.”

Kai’s heart sinks. “You didn’t –”

“Come on!” Ezra folds his arms. “A deal’s a deal. I said you’d both go free, and so you shall.”

“There’s only two of us,” Arthur says faintly. “What’s to stop you taking us again, outside your gates?”

Ezra looks hurt. “I wouldn’t do that to you, would I? I know I said I didn’t much care how I got my money, but I do care _a bit._ I got _some_ principles. Speaking of which – here’s your cut.”

He offers Kai a heavy, jingling pouch, but as Kai reaches out, screams rend the air. Both Kai and Arthur turn towards the door; Kai readies his axe.

“Calm down,” Ezra says. “It’s only Nestor.”

Kai blows out a breath. “Hot tar?”

Ezra nods. “The only way. He might just live.”

Kai frowns. “But will he want to? Rome doesn’t like a loser, so they say.”

Ezra shrugs. “I don’t much care. He’s Benedicta’s problem.” He shoves the bag of coins across the desk. “D’you want this, or not?”

Kai picks it up, looks inside, and sees the glint of gold and silver: more than he ever thought to own.

Arthur glances at it. “What are you going to do with your blood money?” 

Kai flinches.

Arthur closes his eyes. “Pardon me, Kai. I –”

“No, I’m glad you asked.” Kai takes some coins, and places them on the desk. “Please see these go to Aylia, and to Leonora – equal shares.”

Arthur turns and stares at him. “What’s that for?”

Kai shrugs. “Aylia poured water for me. Leonora has a child to keep. I’m sure they have more need of it than we.”

“Very generous.” Ezra nods approvingly.

“Add my thanks as well, if you would,” Arthur says stiffly.

“Be assured, they’ll get them – both the sentiments, and the coins.”

“As for the rest –” Kai puts the pouch in Arthur’s hand. “I give it to your keeping.” 

“No. I don’t deserve –”

“Arthur, you’ll have won it from me, down to the last silver piece, before we are ten leagues from here. This way spares me the suspense, and humiliation.” 

Ezra chuckles. “Born gambler, eh?”

“Born loser!” Kai tilts his head towards Arthur. “Except in one thing.” 

Arthur just looks away.

“Well, money ain’t everything, I suppose.” Ezra frowns, then shakes his head. “I hope the gods didn’t hear me say that! Oh, and here’s your sword.”

Ezra takes Arthur’s weapon from behind his desk, and passes it to him; Arthur takes it, and fastens the belt.

“So, what do you plan to do now?” Kai asks.

“Plan?” 

“Ezra, this place is falling to pieces. Your workers are rebelling. You don’t like the way things are going, and you know it. Why don’t you turn your assets into gold, before they disappear?”

Ezra’s brow creases. “How d’you mean?”

“People are willing to risk death to take your cut stone away. Why not help them? Set your men to taking this place apart. Sell the stone cheaply, to those who would steal it – you’ll still make a handsome profit.”

Arthur’s eyes light up. He leans on Ezra’s desk. “As for myself – I should consider buying some.” He looks up at Kai. “Think how much safer we would be, if we built stone houses, and a wall around our village. It would be easier to defend.”

Kai frowns. “We have no one skilled at building in stone.”

“Ezra’s masons will need employment. They could travel to our villages … teach their skills.”

“It would be a big change for our people.” Kai considers. “We’re not used to living in stone houses.”

“But think about it! If our houses were built from stone instead of rush and timber, the Saxons could not so easily burn them down.”

“Hold your horses!” Ezra puts up a hand. “I haven’t said ‘yes’, yet. Can’t make me mind up just like that – I’ve got my employees to think about.”

“But you’ll consider it,” Arthur says, his eyes intense. “And you’ll send to Arthur’s village in the west, if you have stone and skills to sell?”

“Yes, I’ll consider it. You’ll be the first to know, and get best rates.”

“Never mind stone.” Kai scratches his head. “The first thing we need to buy is horses. We left ours at the inn so long ago – they’re sure to have been sold.”

“Don’t you worry – they’re still there waiting for you,” Ezra says. “Got an arrangement. They keep ’em until I let ’em know the horses’ owners won’t be … needing ’em any more.”

Arthur’s eyebrows rise. “That’s very organised.” 

“Well, you try explaining to a bloke who’s just killed ten men in the arena, where his horse has gone! Borrow two of mine to get you to the inn. Abel can show you the way.” He flaps his hands at them. “Now – get out of here, the pair of you. I got some sorting out to do.”

~~

Benedicta sweeps into Ezra’s office, without being asked. “I’m afraid I must take my leave of you.”

“‘Take your leave’? Already? What’s the rush?”

“If we don’t set out soon, those savages will get away.”

Ezra looks sharply at her. “What savages would that be?”

Benedicta looks like she has eaten poison. “Arthur, and that Saxon beast.”

“Arthur and _Kai_ won their freedom, fair and square.”

“Not from me, they didn’t.” Benedicta tosses her hair. “I’ll have that monster killed, and take Arthur back to Rome with me, whether he likes it, or not.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” Ezra taps his fingers on the desk. “Alright, Your Majesty. But first, there’s the small matter of the wager. I think we can say that your boy, Nestor, lost his fight quite comprehensively. Time to pay up!”

Benedicta’s face goes pale. “You expect me to pay you, after what that brute did to my centurion?” She draws herself up. “You should pay him reparations, for injuries sustained in your arena.”

Ezra smiles like a reptile. “Nah … it might work like that in Rome, Darlin’, but not here. A bet’s a bet. You pay me what you owe. And don’t forget – the accumulation from the other fights. A tidy sum, that comes to.”

Benedicta glances nervously at the door. “Well, I don’t have it here. The wager was substantial.”

Ezra narrows his eyes. “Well, where do you have it?”

“Why, back at my ship, of course.”

“Sorry, Love. Not good enough.”

Benedicta looks towards the door again. “Well, what am I to do?”

“Let’s see, shall we?” Ezra strokes his chin. “Can you pour a pitcher of water? Carry a tray of fruit?”

“Of course I can. But why would I –”

“Can you lie on your back, and think of Rome?”

Benedicta’s eyes widen. She turns to flee, but Barnabas appears in the doorway, blocking her escape.

“Don’t bother,” Ezra says. “All your blokes are in my cells already. See, I’m thinking of getting out of this trade, but it takes time to wind down an operation this size, and in the interim, I’m in need of fighting men for my arena. And I can always do with another good-looking girl, to keep the gladiators’ spirits up. Know what I mean?”

~~

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> First archived here: 24 July 2011.  
> Revised: 31 December 2013.  
> Sequel here (not yet revised): [Rome's Legacy.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/245732)
> 
> If you loved this TV series, please consider joining the [Arthur of the Britons Community](http://community.livejournal.com/arthur_britons/profile)


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